


too good to be all mine

by safeandsound13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Deal With It, F/M, Family, Fluff, Found Family, One Night Stand, Romance, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Wearing His Clothes, bed sharing, bold BOLD concept but CLARKE ONLY HAS FRIENDS WHO LOVE AND SUPPORT HER!!!, chap two edits, doctor!clarke, honestly forgot any other tags again, i cant think of a single fucking tag in this moment, later when her brain aint scrambled, not a single one, one night stand turned raising a family platonically, raven reyes is not in this fic and thats on period, rugby player!bellamy, safeandsound13 will return, surprise 3 year old, this is just so gross and fluffy like as gross as how much i love kisha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: Clarke hesitates, then licks her lips, hastily urging, “Let me give you my number, in case she needs me, or you have to go home or something.”He presses his lips together, and she just knows he’s trying to keep a smug smirk from breaking through on his face. “Better late than never.”When an one night stand doesn't stay an one night stand, but instead you're suddenly kind of raising your adopted three year old together and you're trying to make a move but you don't know how.





	1. make me wanna know that body like it's mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toomuchtroubletbh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchtroubletbh/gifts).

> this is for my ride or die you are my home skillet bisc-OTT you know what i mean and let me tell you this if a bitch ever tries you bitch if a bitch every tries you let me know LET me know and we will set this shit off bitch alrighty bestie i love you youre my everything and have an amazing day bitch i love you bitch i love you bitch 
> 
> anyway if anyone stuck around after all of that 🤮 : i wanted to finish this before her birthday but in conclusion i wish i had money for therapy and didnt keep postponing everything until the very last minute and that i could hold miselizajane's hand for at least twenty minutes. so this is the horrific part one that im uploading in a haze of fuck this shouldve been finished yesterday that i might edit at some point, and part two shall be up later this week its almost finished just not quite
> 
> also lets ignore my graphic designs skills and how i got the title of my own fic wrong i just cant live with having too many fics that start with an y so we all just gonna move our bangs and pretend we aint read that title

~

Harper thinks Clarke never goes out unless it’s work or grocery shopping, and because Harper thinks so and they’re married, Monty is the one who drags her out to a local bar for drinks the first possible Friday night after his wife first brings it up to him during dinner. He doesn’t say it in as many words, but Clarke gets the gist her friends think she is pathetic.

It’s not like she _ never _ goes out. She’s just busy. Clarke has a busy life. She’s never been much of an out-goer anyway. She prefers game nights at home with her friends, or getting piss drunk for no reason while binge-watching a bad teen show by herself. So yeah, maybe that’s the definition of pathetic for some, but Clarke likes lingering on the edge of loneliness. Not completely, but enough to feel at home in her own skin.

The bar -- small town Arkadia’s _ only _ bar so it’s not like there’s other options -- is fucking crowded. It’s crawling with people; mostly men, _ loud _ men, obnoxiously roaring at the television and drinking so much beer the whole place reeks with it.

“Ugh, sports,” Monty mutters under his breath, disgusted, as his eyes flick towards the flat screen hanging in the corner above the bar. Clarke follows his gaze, only briefly, long enough to see one guy tackle another so roughly she feels a phantom pain overtake every single one of her limbs in a shudder. That must have hurt like hell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know Football Fridays were a thing now.”

Clarke uses the fact she’s about one of five breast-displaying people in the place to weasle her way to the front of the bar, dragging her friend along as she waits for the bartender to notice her. “I forgot people actually watch a bunch of guys assault each other for fun.”

Monty shares a pointed look with her as a loud, rambunctious cheer erupts in the room and he’s elbowed in the back so violently, he’s shoving her into the counter. He lowers his voice, checking to see if she’s okay before letting go of the tight, steadying grip he has on her arm. “I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse to get shitfaced every week without admitting the real reason they’re drinking is the lack of even the semblance of happiness in their lives.”

Clarke shrugs casually as he scrunches up his face, actually pretty glad the night is working out the way it is. The less Monty enjoys it, the sooner they can be at home. “Not to stereotype, but at least it ups my chances of meeting a girl who’s_ actually _ interested in girls.”

“We’re not leaving,” Monty tells her decisively as he spots the small curve forming on her pink lips, knowing her all too well. “If we’re back before eleven Harper will go back on birth control just to spite me.”

Clarke immediately sobers, rolling her eyes as she taps her fingers impatiently on top of the sticky counter. “I wouldn’t dream of robbing the world of a miniature pushy Green who is genetically programmed to not being able to mind their own business.”

In all reality, their kid is going to be the biggest ball of sunshine around and is probably going to bring on world peace and cure cancer and save the planet from global warming. _ But, _ her friend is annoying for forcing her to come out here so over her dead body is she admitting any of that any time soon. She could be at home with a bottle of wine three episodes deep in the new season of Riverdale if Harper wanted to give her a night off so badly. 

She finally makes eye-contact with a bartender and he comes over to take their order before Monty can even think of a reply. A pitcher of beer because it’s cheap, and a round of shots that are most likely to make her forget she’s not at the place she wants to be most -- which is in her bed.

They do the first two right there at the bar, both knocking them back with a hiss because it’s been too long and too strong, before finding a more secluded spot near the back where they can sit down. 

It takes a while, but -- after sharing horrible work stories over nachos and hot wings, discussing the new RuPaul’s drag race contestants like they’re discussing presidential candidates, and playing the worst game of darts the place has probably ever seen because they both have terrible hand-eye coordination especially half a pitcher of beer in -- Clarke can admit she’s actually having a tiny bit of fun. The alcohol helped, but it’s been a while since she got to be _ just _ Clarke. Not doctor Clarke, or Abby’s daughter Clarke, or mo--

“I have to pee,” she blurts out in the middle of them trying to guess dick size based just on what song every stranger picked from the jukebox. Or well, Clarke was. Monty suggested professions or star signs at first, but tipsy Clarke thought that was boring. 

Monty leans back against the faux red leather of their booth, ripping up a carton coaster with his fingers absently. His eyes are a bit glazed over. “Have fun.”

The crowd has thickened in the few hours they’ve been here, a heavy fog of sweat, beer and cigarette smoke surrounding her at every step, making it harder for her to manoeuver her way through it towards the bathrooms. _ Of fucking course _ there’s a line towards the ladies’ bathroom going around the corner when her bladder is about to burst. 

“Whatever,” she mutters, pushing her way into the men’s bathroom and ignoring the few mutters of protests as she dives into the first available stall she sees. 

Clarke fixes her top as she pees, pulling up the sweetheart neckline of the dark cami Harper forced her into so it no longer shows half of her lacy bra. Honestly, she’s not looking for a hook-up _ that _ hard. 

It’s been a while, and honestly it sounds like too much work for something she could just take out her vibrator for. Much less messy too. No awkward sneaking out after the other one has fallen asleep, or the somehow always way too early in the morning will-we-or-won’t-we share breakfast debate.

As soon as she leaves the stall, she bumps headfirst into a firm, broad chest, looking up accusingly to meet a pair of confused brown eyes from under a fringe of curls. 

“This is the guy’s bathroom,” he states, staring down at her with a crease on his forehead. He’s big enough to be intimidating, but she’s not easily intimidated.

“Gender is a social construct,” Clarke informs him flatly, pushing past him to walk over to the sink and turn on the faucet. The cold water feels good on her wrists, helping cool down the heat in her system from all the shots they took earlier. 

He lets out some sort of surprised noise from the back of his throat as he leans his shoulder against the wall beside the mirror, arms crossed over his impressive chest. Not that she noticed -- well, she did _ notice, _ but only for a second, and only because he practically hit her with it in the face. “Are you not from around here?”

Clarke shoots him an appalled glance as she doubles up on soap, massaging it into her skin. She snorts slightly, unimpressed. “Be honest, does that line ever work for you?”

He raises his eyebrows, almost smugly. “You don’t really look like someone who’d waste away their life in Arkadia.” 

It’s not like Clarke feels particularly protective over Arkadia, she didn’t grow up here, or owes some of her best memories to the place. She just moved here after medical school because of her job. Yet something about his superior fucking attitude about it rubs her the wrong way. 

“Well, it’s people like you who make it all worth it,” she bites back cynically, refusing to meet his eye in the mirror, shaking her hands above the sink to rid them of excess water before yanking a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall. 

“It was a compliment, really,” he chuckles darkly, like he’s just oh-so amused with her. Out of the corner of her eye she can see his biceps flex slightly with the movement, his dark skin glowing in the dim bathroom lighting. What an arrogant ass. “I’ve never seen you around before and I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

Another horrible line. She scrubs at some smudged eyeliner under her eyes with her pinkie, then leans her hip against the counter, her face a blank slate of disinterest. “Tell your two functioning brain cells to take it all in because hopefully a fleeting memory is the only thing we walk away with tonight.”

Clarke is not a very mean person in her daily life -- she fucking saves people for a living for god’s sake -- but something about the alcohol running through her bloodstream and the way she wants to see him affected as much as he affects her has her go full high school bully.

“Aren’t you a real charmer, princess?” He cuts in, sarcasm dripping off his voice as his eyes flick over to the crown pendant on her silver bracelet, dangling above her father’s watch as it catches the light. 

Clarke takes a step towards him, small but closer to him, because for some reason she thought it’d be more of a threatening _ fuck you _ and less _ fuck_,_ he really is annoyingly attractive_. Her body is no longer used to being intoxicated and attracted to someone at the same time -- a dangerous mix of chemicals. She purses her lips. “I can be less of one, if you’d prefer.”

“No,” he answers, voice gruff and eyes dark enough to make her palms get clammy just a little. Screw her body for betraying her like this. “I like you just like this.”

“Oh,” she recovers fast enough, even though her chest flushes a dark red and she has to swallow thickly to get her mouth to feel less dry, “And what makes you think I crave the validation of a random guy who thinks starting up conversations with girls in public bathrooms is flirting 101?”

The corners of his mouth turn up in amusement slowly, their eyes locked, the tension of the silence between them stretching and thickening every second that passes -- and then, before he can answer her, some drunk guy stumbles over his feet, clapping him on the shoulder, “Yoooo! Congrats, Bellamy!”

He nods back at the guy in lieu of a verbal ‘thank you’, just a small upward jut of his jaw. Bellamy. It kind of fits him, in a weird way. 

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Clarke blurts out, mostly just to make fun of him about something, anything really, to cope with the way his gaze sets her whole body on fire. It's not like she even has any right to speak. It really has been too long. Her standards have sunk so low a stranger with nice enough hair insulting her gets her turned on.

Okay, it’s not just _ nice _ hair. It’s great hair. Hair she wants to run her fingers through, curls she wants to wind around her fingers, and tug on as he uses his mou--

“I thought gender was a social construct,” he -- _Bellamy_ \-- retorts easily, snapping her out of her daydream, giving her a smug look. 

Clarke doesn’t have anything witty to say because she’s too busy staring at the plethora of freckles spread across his nose, her smile giving her away anyway. So she’s _ charmed_. Who can blame her? Absently, she wonders, “Congrats on what?”

He tilts his head slightly, one eyebrow lifted in a challenge she doesn't want to back down from. “Going home with you?”

Her mouth feels dry, heart hammering in her chest. Even if there’s nothing else she can think of right now that she’d want more, she still presses, just to be contrary, cool edge to her voice, “Presumptuous.”

He shuffles forward, almost inconspicuous, still leaning against the wall with his shoulder as he holds her gaze, drawing her in. He smells nice, like an actual after shave and not just axe body spray. “Wrong?”

It’s like anything more than short, concise answers is going to make her pass out from exhaustion, every word heavy on her tongue because of the thick air surrounding them, making it hard to breathe, or think rationally, or tell herself it's a bad idea. 

“Not per se,” Clarke croaks out, then his mouth is on hers. He’s firm and warm and it’s messy, consuming -- there’s so much of him, too much, overwhelming all her senses as she tries to give him as much as he’s giving her, taking as much as he is from her.

Bellamy pulls back slightly, forehead against hers, warm breath fanning across her face. “Dependent on what?”

She’s out of breath, her grip still tight on the dark material of his shirt stretched across his chest. It takes her a second to remember what they were even talking about, and to come up with a sensical answer. “If you were a good kisser.”

His thumb runs over her bottom lip, pressing when she doesn’t elaborate any further than that, “And?”

“You’re alright,” she mutters, eyes fluttering closed as she leans in again, unable to give him a sincere compliment like it'll somehow protect her dignity. Bellamy moves back just a little, making her chase his mouth with a frustrated little groan. He huffs a laugh against her mouth, before she starts frowning aggressively and he finally gives in, meeting her in the middle. 

Bellamy presses her back into the counter at one point, body flush against hers, her grip on the counter with both hands so tight her knuckles are a pale white. His big hands cup her cheeks, and he kisses her like he can’t get close enough. She lets him, because she's just as desperate. Once a few guys catcall loudly, she moves away from his face, tightening the grip on his collar to keep him at bay, snap him out of the same daze she was in seconds before. 

Clarke licks her lips, trying to catch her breath. She needs a little distance, or she is going to end up letting him fuck her in one of these stalls and she’s drunk, but not drunk enough to sell something like that to her own self-esteem in the morning. “Let me just say goodbye to my friend.”

He nods, once, after a long second of processing what she said, pecks her one more time, his lips red and his pupils blown. “I’ll wait outside…” His voice trails off, looking curious.

Right. She wipes a bit of lip gloss off the corner of his mouth with her thumb, pretends it doesn’t satisfy her greatly when he inhale sharply at her touch. “Clarke.”

She grabs her jacket from the booth her and Monty shared. He looks up from his phone, surprised. She doesn’t even know how long she was gone, time nothing but an abstract concept at the moment. “I’m leaving.”

Monty sighs heavily. “It’s not eleven yet, but if we swing by the drive thru I’m sure Harper--”

“No. I’m _ leaving_.” Clarke raises her eyebrows, voice suggestive enough for Monty’s eyes to light up in understanding. 

“Oh.” He holds out his hand, and she slaps it, trying to hide a smirk. Somehow he’s not confused on how she turned bathroom visit into a hookup. Then again, back in the day, her game was legendary. “Get it, Griffin.”

She kisses his cheek, saying a quick thank you and promising him to drop him her location once she's no longer in public before shrugging into her jacket and making the short walk outside. The bar is still packed, somehow a game still playing on the television -- the same one? -- even though it’s been hours, but he’s waiting on the curb in front of the entrance like he promised. 

They take a cab to his house, and they manage to behave, safe for his hand on her thigh the whole way there. Just circling innocent little whisper of touches on her jean-clad skin that nonetheless made her want to press her knees together to release some of the tension. The hint of a smirk on his face telling her he knows exactly what he is doing. Her hand wrapped around his forearm like a warning, but also because it feels almost like a necessity to touch him any way she can.

Bellamy pulls her inside his small, old terraced house immediately, pushing her up against the door as soon as he kicks it closed behind them. She winds her hands into his hair, yanking his face down to hers to reconnect their lips hastily. His warm mouth moves over hers, wet and sloppy and dirty and just how she likes it. 

His hands -- calloused, and warm, and _ huge _\-- dip under her cami, sliding up and down her sides until there’s goosebumps covering her entire body. His thumbs brush the underwire of her bra, and with a small gasp her legs involuntarily fall open just a little more. Just enough for him to press his knee against her heated centre, drawing a low moan from her and a self-satisfied smirk from him. 

Clarke drops her hands, starts pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He steps back after planting a kiss on her jaw, shrugging out of it as she starts to do the same. Then she tugs off her cami, too, just to speed up the process a little. She missed this more than she realized and honestly cannot wait to get fucked. 

He follows her lead, losing his shirt before pressing his chest back against hers in a similar way he does her mouth; hard, and heated, and desperate to get close. Her head lolls on the wood of the door as he pulls back only to look down at her bodies, cursing at the sight of her chest as he runs a hand up her stomach to palm her breast. She watches him through hooded eyes, admiring the awed look on his face. He’s underwear model gorgeous -- a strong jawline, beautiful dark eyes that remind her of a crackling fireplace in the middle of winter, great abs that aren’t too pronounced to feel like he’d rather be fucking a jar of protein powder, taut golden skin littered with more than a few scars, scraps and bruises. 

(If she met him maybe two years ago, she would’ve wanted to know where he got every single one -- all the stories behind them, the hopes and dreams and values she’d be able to find within those. If he made a living out of being beat up in a ring for money, if he was a vigilante roaming the streets at night or just really, really clumsy. Now she knows this can only be one night, and she shouldn’t get too involved. It hardly matters what he does during the day when she won’t ever see him again. 

There’s a different kind of excitement attached to it, a sick kind of thrill shimmering under the surface, to not know anything for sure and still taking the plunge. For someone who likes control more than she likes herself, it’s liberating.)

He squeezes his hand around her breast harder, leaning down to softly bite into the top of it. She lets out a breathy noise at the small sharp stab of pain, trying to press her thighs together but instead finding his there. It’s just as good, maybe even better, releasing some of the tension built up in her centre. Not nearly enough, but a start. He soothes the sting with a gentle kiss, thumbs brushing the underside of her bra again, murmuring against her skin, “Can’t wait to get my mouth on these.”

“What are you waiting for?” She answers, impatient, already pulling down the straps of her bra. Before she has a chance to reach behind her and unhook it, he’s already pulled down the cups, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. 

Clarke’s back arches of the door, hands sliding up his chest to weave into his hair as he scrapes one nipple with his teeth, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger as he cups her breast. She loves his hands maybe even more than his mouth. 

“You gonna fuck me up against the door?” She gasps out after a moment, feeling herself grown ridiculously damp in between her thighs. She needs him to do something more, soon, or she might combust. 

He smirks, pulling back from her tits to help her take off her bra completely before using both hands to squeeze her ass, pull her groin closer to his. The minimal friction is good, but not enough. She leans her elbows on his shoulders, locking her hands together behind his neck. 

“Is that what you want?” Bellamy wonders, an innocent layer to his voice, still kneading her ass as he starts kissing and nipping the sensitive skin of her neck. Her hands move to his shoulders to steady herself with all the new sensations happening all at once. 

Clarke decides to think it over, smoothing over the small wisps of hair at her temples. It’d be hot to feel him thrust up against her, the provided angle maybe just right enough to work. He sucks on her pulsepoint, making her tighten her fingers around his broad shoulders caging her in, nails digging into his skin unapologetically. She’s made up her mind, shaking her head slightly. “I want to feel you on top of me.”

He growls a little, the vibration of it against her neck going straight to her core. “Your wish is my command.” He glances up at her briefly with hooded eyes, almost mischievous, then moving his hands down to the back of her thighs, lifting her up. 

Her legs lock behind his waist automatically, their chests flush together as their mouths reattach, even if this is the first time she’s been carried to bed by anyone else. They share messy, uncoordinated kisses on the way to his bedroom, anything to stay connected. 

Bellamy tosses her on top of the bed, taking a minute to step out of his jeans while she kicks of her shoes. He slides his hands back beneath her thighs pulling her closer to the edge of the mattress. The look of him knelt down in front of the bed in between her knees sends a surge of wetness down her centre. She's so oversensitivitized and he’s so incredibly and effortlessly sexy -- broad and hard and beautiful -- she could come just from the sight of his head near her cunt at this point. 

He unbuttons her pants skillfully, dragging them and her panties down her legs in one smooth move. He’s going down on her and she didn’t even have to ask. _ Fuck, _she feels like she should be writing his mother a thank you note for raising him right. Bellamy starts by pressing kisses against the inside of her knee, moving up her flushed skin torturously slow until he reaches the junction of her thigh and hip. The anticipation becomes too much, her entire skin buzzing excitingly and Clarke gives up trying to strain herself, laying down on her back, blonde hair splayed across his dark sheets. 

She lets out a loud sigh of relief as he presses a soft kiss to her clit, one of his fingers circling her entrance teasingly. It makes her hips buck up involuntarily as she knits her fingers into his curls tightly, no longer used to pleasure not created by her own predictable fingers. His other arm comes up to band around her hips, holding her down as he licks his first stripe up her slit. Her eyes practically roll into the back of her head as she clenches down on nothing, desperate to feel something inside of her, something to take off the pressure she feels building to an impossible height in every cell of her body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she curses almost like a mantra, arching her back of his bed as he seems to know just what she’s thinking, entering her with one finger while he sucks on her bundle of nerves. 

Bellamy starts pumping his finger in and out of her, not too long before he adds another as he alternates licking and sucking and lightly grazing her clit with his teeth. It’s a tight stretch, his fingers much thicker and longer than she’s accustomed to, but she loves the feeling of it. He murmurs something against her wet heat about her taking it like a champ and she glows with the compliment, heartbeat speeding up as the tension builds and builds, one hand leaving his hair to grip the sheets instead. 

Bellamy crooks his fingers just slightly, hand of the arm holding down her hips snaking up to pinch her nipple as he teases the hood of her clit with his tongue just enough to send sparks up her spine -- all the different kind of sensations at once finally making the coil tightly wound inside of her snap, making her come hard. 

He lets her ride it out against his flattened tongue, before leaning back on his heels with a self-satisfied smirk, fingers splayed along her thighs. If she wasn’t still high on pleasure she’d call him out on it, but if she’s honest with herself he deserves to be a little bit cocky about what just transpired between them. One of his hands is still damp against her skin from being inside of her moments earlier, just like his shiny chin that he wipes with the back of his other hand.

Clarke’s entire body feels like jelly and she throws her head back onto the bed -- her breath is coming out in stutters, her eyes closing again while she deals with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her entire skin flushed over a pretty pink -- as he moves back up her body, leaning his weight on his fists, pressing his mouth back to hers. She licks into him eagerly, tasting herself on his tongue. Begrudingly, she admits, “You’re really good at that.”

Bellamy brushes some damp hair from her forehead, causing her to blink her eyes open, staring up at him. He grins, pupils fat with want, laced with something a lot like admiration. “And you look really good while I’m doing that.”

Instead of saying anything, she leans back up, catching her bottom lip with her teeth after a filthy kiss. It sparks a new swell of heat inside of her and even though she feels oversensitivitized she’s ready to go again like right now. Her small hand dips down the band of his underwear, wrapping around his hard cock just as she bites down teasingly on his bottom lip. He groans at her touch, tough, unbothered exterior finally fading, dropping his head to her collarbone.

Clarke strokes him a few times -- hard and thick and pulsing in her grip -- before he nudges her jaw with his nose, urging her to move further up the bed. She follows his instructions, scooting up towards the headboard. He kicks off his boxers before rejoining her.

She impatiently reaches for him again, but he swats her hand away, cupping her chin as he watches doubt flash across her eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, apologetic as his thumb runs over her bottom lip. “Clarke, I don’t have that much restraint.”

She feels warmth bloom across her chest at his compliment. It makes her feel a weird kind of powerful, that she could make this gorgeous, obviously very experienced god of a man come just from _ touching _ his dick. It almost makes her long for another chance at this, when she’s not _ this _ desperate to get fucked and feel him inside of her and she could take her time teasing him. 

Clarke leans up to kiss him again, pulling him down on top of her so his cock is pressed hard and firm against her soft belly -- a thrilling promise of what’s to come. They make out for a little while, tongues moving together almost lazily as their hands explore each other’s bodies. 

She’s sure she’s never been this wet before in her life, and once it gets too much to bear it, she spreads her knees a little wider, bucking up against him until he groans against her mouth. 

Finally, he starts reaching for his nightstand blindly, pressing a kiss against the corner of her lips, her jaw, the hollow of her neck before sitting back on his heels as he finds what he was looking for. 

“I haven’t been with a guy for a long time,” Clarke warns, leaning back on her elbows as she watches him roll on the condom with an excited thrill running through her body, tainted just a little bit around the edges with anxiety. He’s _ big _ \-- curved and thick and beautiful -- and while she never used to turn away from a little girth and she’s sure he’s going to fit regardless, it’s intimidating to think she’s going to have to take all of that inside of her soon. It’s the good kind of anxiety though -- Clarke’s never been one to shy away from a little pain.

He shoves his fingers back inside of her at her words, like he’s testing her out, the sudden stretch making her yelp before using her own slickness to wet his dick. “It might hurt a little,” he murmurs, looking regretful, like he hasn’t tried his best to get her as wet as possible.

She raises her eyebrows at him, releasing her bottom lip from her teeth’s hold on them as she runs her fingers of one hand down his bicep. “Promises, promises.”

Bellamy smirks again, a small dark humoured rumble leaving the back of his throat before he lowers himself on top of her until she has no choice but to lay down along with him, placing her hands on his sides, over his ribs. The head of his cock bumps into her clit as he slides himself up and down her fold, making them both hiss at the sudden surge of pleasure. 

Finally, he lines himself up with her entrance, pushing inside -- not all of it, not at once -- giving her time to adjust. She’s afraid to look down and see how much she has left to take so she looks at him instead, her whole body tight. His eyes are soft with concern as he starts pressing gentle kisses down her throat, hands sliding up from her hips to her breasts, thumbs flicking at her nipples. 

It’s distracting enough to make her muscles start to relax beneath him, knees tightening around his hips to let him know she’s ready to try again. He pushes himself further inside her carefully, inch by inch, and although it feels like she’s being ripped open from the inside, she’s moaning from pure bliss at the same time as his snakes one hand in between where they’re joined, thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit. 

He’s being so careful with her, so gentle with his slow pace and soft brushes of his fingers, that after a few slow thrusts she starts meeting him in the middle. Bellamy luckily understands just what she wants, starting to pound into her harder and harder. She’s so grateful in this moment she didn’t let him fuck her against the door earlier when he feels this good on top of her -- a heavy, warm weight caging her in, making her feel secure.

Their mouths meet again to kiss, even though it’s not really kissing, but more a breathy mess of lips and tongues as they move together, sharing small, delighted noises.

“You feel so good,” he breathes against her cheek before pressing a kiss there, thumb pressing against her clit hard. She lets out an affirmative whine, too close to another orgasm to be able to form actual words. He lowers his mouth to bite at the top of her breast, swirling his tongue around her nipple. His breath torturous against her wet skin as he adds, “So good.”

He shifts them lightly, pushing one of her knees up higher so he can slide in just a little further. The slight change of angle has Clarke start to feel herself flutter around his cock, her thighs starting to shake as her nails dig further into his skin, begging him without words to continue just like this.

“You close, huh?” Bellamy murmurs into her ear after licking a stripe up in between her tits, sucking on her pulse point hard enough to leave a bruise, amusement coating his voice as she nods against him, restless, hips rolling up to meet him as her brows knit together. “Are you going to come for me, pretty girl?”

Her second orgasm amazingly still comes to her like a surprise, like the deep timbre of his voice flipped a switch inside of her, pleasure barrelling forward, her body tensing all at once, clenching down rhythmically on his cock as she keens and moans loudly. 

“Gorgeous,” he rasps, voice dark and eyes insistent on her face as his palm thankfully relents off her clit and slides up her stomach to squeeze her breast. He barely last three more strokes before he’s spilling inside of her too, collapsing on top of her, both of their chests moving with heavy breaths against each other as they come back down.

After a moment he peels himself off her, sliding his softening cock out of her while he keeps ahold of the condom. While he takes care of that she quickly dips into what she assumes is the bathroom, but ends up being the closet. 

“To your left,” he informs her with a gruff laugh, giving her a fond smile as she glares at him over her shoulder.

She slides into the _ right _ bathroom, quickly peeing and cleaning herself up a little before hurrying back towards the bed. Maybe she should get dressed and leave, but she’s cold and her legs still feel to wobbly to wait outside for a the taxi drive of shame back home. 

To her surprise, Bellamy pulls her into his chest as she soon as she slides under the covers, nuzzling her neck. He’s a cuddler. Even more surprising, Clarke doesn’t mind. His skin is warm and sticky with sweat, but it’s nice regardless. She hates to admit it, but she has kind of missed this. The simplicity of human touch in intimate moments like these, basking in the afterglow. 

“You’re amazing,” he mutters against the base of her neck, his breath making her own hair tickle her skin as his grip around her waist tightens. 

Clarke moves her arm to cover his, intertwining their fingers over her stomach. She closes her eyes, hides her smile even though he can’t see. “You’re okay, too.”

He laughs, a throaty, almost sleepy sound as he squeezes her hand. “You humble me.”

After a moment of silence, she presses her face into the pillow, forcing herself to stay awake, before asking him, quietly, “Do you want me to leave?”

Clarke hears the mischief in his voice before she even fully processes what he's saying and it makes her stomach flip. “Not per se.” 

“Dependent on what?” She plays along with his game, keeping her tone light.

“If you admit it,” Bellamy says simply, nuzzling her hair away from her shoulder before brushing a kiss against the newly exposed skin. 

She tries to get a glance at his face by looking over her shoulder, but when that doesn’t work out the way she wants it to, turns in his arms completely. Clarke cocks an eyebrow at him questioningly, “Admit what?”

He looks so smug. “That I’m the best kisser you know.”

She blinks at him, fighting an incredulous laugh. “_God,_ you’re arrogant.” It would be so unattractive on anyone else, and it makes her a little disappointed in herself she doesn't mind it as much on him.

Bellamy tries hard to hide a smirk, thumb moving over the soft skin in between her shoulderblades comfortingly. “Do you want me to call you a Lyft?”

Clarke huffs, meeting his gaze with frustrated heat. She narrows her eyes, leaning up to graze her mouth with his as if about to test him. He responds with enthusiasm, licking the seam of her mouth until she opens up for him. They kiss like that for a while, slow and wet and just a bit like they’re both trying to win an argument. She plays with a curl at the base of his neck, his thumb moving over her jaw gently.

When she pulls back, she refuses to look at him and keeps her eyes closed to make it easier on herself, admitting against his lips, “You’re a good kisser.” She can’t let him have the full win.

“I’ll take it,” he grins, smoothing her hair down her back before resting his chin on top of her head, locking his arms around her back. She settles her cheek against his chest, the beat of his heart almost a comforting lullaby. After a peaceful moment of being wrapped around each other, he mumbles with a sigh, “This is nice.”

She hums affirmatively, her aching muscles and tired bones already pulling her into a slumber, succeeding not very much later.

Clarke wakes up earlier than him, mostly because her sleep schedule’s been fucked every since she first started practicing medicine and usually she’s woken by loud cries or a heavy thump onto her mattress by now anyway. She gets dressed quickly, her eyes lingering on his sleeping form. He looks cute, peaceful, snoring softly and her heart squeezes regretfully in her chest. 

Clarke used to be really good at this part; not getting attached, keeping it casual, saying goodbye. She was so good at it, friends asked for her advice on it and she’s ruined more than one relationship over it. It’s not like she’s in love with him after a single shared night, that she’s sure -- once she fully comes down from the high of her first good orgasm in over a year and the alcohol in her system -- probably won’t even be as great as she’s made it out to be. She’ll get over it.

She throws open the door, forcing herself out of his bedroom and down the stairs, checking her phone for any missed messages on her way to the front door. It’s nice to fantasize about what could happen if she kissed him awake, or even just left her number, but it’s not reality. 

Harper is already awake as she enters the kitchen, and Clarke greedily takes the glass of green contents her friend holds out to her. She side-hugs her, grateful, already chugging down half of the contents. Considering her friend is married to the king of mixed drinks that’ll make your night but ruin your mornings, Harper has spent years and years on developing the perfect hangover cure. Clarke doesn’t know what’s in it, just that it doesn’t taste half as bad as the stale taste of bile in the back of her throat, and she’s afraid to ask at this point. 

“I took it you had a nice night?” The other blonde asks knowingly as she watches Clarke move over to Madi, perched in the booster chair at the end of the kitchen table, already making grabby hands at her and babbling excited noises that resemble a happy, sleepy chant of 'mommy' close enough. 

“Yeah,” is all Clarke says, distracted with pressing kisses all over her daughter’s face, drawing her favorite sound from her -- giddy, delighted laughter. “Thanks for looking after her.”

Madi starts squeezing her cheeks together to get her attention, turning her big blue eyes on her. “Missed you mommy," she mumbles. Giving in despite knowing better, Clarke picks her up from the chair, propping her up on her hip so Madi can snuggle into her chest, making warmth bloom across it. Clarke brushes her dark hair away from her forehead. She’s missed her girl. 

“Hmm. You look--” Harper’s eyes flick over to her daughter latched onto her body like a lifeline, arms crossed over her chest and showing off her impressive biceps, before she smirks and presses, pointedly, “Like you had a rough night.” 

That's probably an understatement. Not only does she probably reek like alcohol, she hasn’t looked in the mirror since last night. Her Lyft driver kept looking at her in the rearview mirror, even repeatedly asking her if she was alright, which told her enough.

Clarke tries to hide the shit-eating grin threatening to spill but fails miserably, putting Madi on top of the kitchen island as she slides into the chair in front of it. 

“That good, huh?” Harper states, impressed, as she moves aside the collar of Clarke’s jacket to reveal a purple bruise blooming on her skin. 

Clarke quickly takes another sip of the drink she put down on the counter earlier to get out of answering, eyes flicking over to the small television hanging in the corner above the kitchen table. She almost chokes on the liquid, forcing herself to calm down enough to swallow it safely. Her eyes widen as she refocuses on the image on the television. A picture, of Bellamy, as in the guy whose house she just left, on the local morning news. Much more than that she can’t process. Dreadfully, as a cold sweat starts to form on her back, she asks Harper, “Is that a mugshot?”

Her friend follows her gaze, confused, eyebrows shooting up as she realizes what she’s looking at. She shoots her a weird look. “No.” When Clarke still doesn’t look like she understands what the hell is going on, Harper actually looks offended. “Have you been living under a rock?”

Clarke just gives her a blank look, not in the mood for riddles this early in the morning while nursing the impending doom of a possible hangover while she might or might not have fucked a literal criminal last night. 

“He’s the captain of our rugby team.”

Clarke’s mouth feels dry. She’s saying words but they don’t make sense. “Of our what?”

Madi is content kick her feet as her legs dangle off the counter while she sucks her thumb, and Clarke absentmindedly steadies her while she does so, listening to her friend elaborate. 

“Our national rugby team that literally _ just _got qualified for the World Cup yesterday morning,” Harper presses, flattening her palms on the counter in front of her. Of course Harper would know this, she spends almost all of her free time in the gym. “This is his hometown, how can you now know that?“ She frowns at the pale look on her face, letting go of some of her defensiveness and letting her shoulders sag. “Are you okay?”

How _ can _she not know that? “I’m fine,” Clarke blurts out, shaking her head to break herself out of the weird funk surrounding her. She quickly lies herself out of it. “He was at the bar last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” the other blonde curses, sliding her hands into her hair and tugging on it frustratedly. She’s usually so composed, now suddenly not caring she’s messing up her tight braid and probably hurting herself. “And you didn’t ask for an autograph or something? At the bare minimum a selfie?” Harper bites down on her lip, sending her a desperate look. “_God, _ I would leave Monty for him, Clarke. He _ single-handedly _ saved our country’s honor yesterday.”

Clarke shifts into her chair, ignoring the ache in between her thighs as she does so. “No. I can’t believe myself either.” 

“I’m going to murder you guys. I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” Harper continues on, but Clarke is already drowning the sound out while her friend rants about ‘lost life opportunities’ and ‘grounds for divorce’. It’s the first time in a while Clarke’s mad at Monty for something. Couldn’t he be more of a sports guy? Fuck.

And she is fine. It’s not like this changes anything. Bellamy wanted to fuck her, not hold her hand and raise Madi with her. And she wanted the same things. She didn’t even necessarily_ like _ him. None of that changes just because he happens to be kind of good at what he does for a living and is relatively well known in this shitty little town, probably country. 

It just means he’s harder to avoid than she had initially thought. It is easier at first, once she gets on with her life and realizes he probably went back to his villa somewhere in one of their bigger cities and left Arkadia behind to focus on getting their team to victory and she falls back in her own routine. 

Clarke doesn’t like rugby, but it’s hard not to be confronted by any of it during the World Cup. The entire town is decorated in their national color -- dark violet -- local news stations absolutely obsessed with anything and all things rugby, bakeries selling cookies with the team’s faces on it and grocery stores doing special promotions and holding raffles. It’s Baader-Meinhof, but worse. 

So it’s hard to miss it when they win their first pool game, and then the next two are a draw and a win, and then finally make it to the last qualifying game for the quarter finals. Their game just happens to be on television after she’s put Madi down for a nap and she ends up watching while holding one of her medical journals on her lap. If only so she can tell herself the game is just background noise and she’s actually doing something productive. She is _not _wasting away pining over some unavailable guy she hooked up with _once_.

Clarke doesn’t even understand half of what’s happening, but she understands he’s good, _ really _ good. He works well with the others, extremely competitive, looks aggravatingly sexy when he’s giving his other teammates motivational speeches. It almost makes _her_ want to get up and join, even though she’d probably die within under ten seconds.

And maybe the journal on her lap thuds to the floor because she’s too busy and completely distracted watching him wipe sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt in one of the shots they show while waiting for the ball to be put back on the halfway line. It’s no big deal. He’s hot. Everybody knows so. Harper would leave Monty for him. That’s saying a lot. 

And so what she’s quite possibly a little gone on the way his hands look wrapped around the ball, his strong thighs, mess of curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. The beard he’s grown out over the past weeks. And those shoulders -- god. A shudder runs through her at the sight of his broad shoulders, remembers how it was to be beneath the sheer weight of him, engulfed by him, his heady smell. 

Clarke is on the edge of her seat, heart pounding loudly in her throat as the game goes into it’s final few minutes. It’s 16-19 and if they keep going like this, they might actually take it home and move on to the quarter finals. She feels it happening before it does. Roan Borealis from the Icelandic team comes out of nowhere and tackles Bellamy just before the goal line and her doctor instincts immediately have her rise up on her feet, hand covering her mouth, pulse rattling in her neck as the camera pans out. Medics rush over to him when he doesn’t stand up, and the commentators explain what’s happening. 

Clarke barely hears what they’re saying as she watches the repeat on screen, sees the weird angle in which is leg is turned as they nosedive into the grass before another group of men pile on top of them, fighting for the ball. As soon as they get off him Clarke knows from the expression on his face, knows it deep down to her bones as an eerie coldness seeps into them, it’s not good. 

Clarke doesn’t know what to do. She is worried for him, but it’s not like they actually know each other. Hell, she didn’t even get his number, not even sure he would’ve even been willing to give it out to her had she asked. It’s just that -- he seemed good, gentle. From the tender way he wiped back her hair from her face, to the way he was so insistent on making her feel the best she could, to how he held her close and secure in the afterglow of it all. He doesn’t deserve this, she knows that much.

She keeps up a little with him through the news, even if there’s not much to keep up with. Learns he was flown back to Polaris’ main capital city, Polis, immediately and had emergency surgery on his knee at some top notch private clinic in the north of the country. The surgery was a success, doctors say. It’s pretty much radio silence after that, besides his teammates wishing him good luck and hoping for a speedy recovery. She’s careful not to get too involved, to just hear about him if she so happens to stumble upon it and not actively go searching for information. All Clarke can do is hope he’s doing okay and hope she can be okay with just that. 

Life goes on, two weeks pass, and Clarke doesn’t forget about him but she also finds herself thinking of him less and less. She has enough going on in her own life.

Like the fucking daycare at the hospital deciding sniffing twice is a capital crime. They have her pulled out in the middle of a surgery, telling her Madi is a ‘sick hazard’ for the other kids because she has a runny nose. Clarke’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake, she wouldn’t have risked all the other kids if wasn’t just a harmless little cold. Besides, they’re all vaccinated. A few germs would be good for their developing immune systems. 

They’re acting like it’s the fucking plague and her job isn’t on the line here. She’s already missed so many hours after she got Madi, and then even more when she was trying to get used to being a mother to her. The head of surgery cut her some slack because he has a crush on her mom, but she knew even the promise of her mother’s detached way of loving the people in her life and leaving them wanting more wasn’t going to be enough for much longer. He had the draw the line at some point.

“Seriously -- it’s just a cold,” Clarke complains, adjusting Madi in her arms so she’s using a different set of muscles than in the previous fifteen minutes of carrying her. She’s starting to get heavy, at three years old, especially when she’s this sleepy and is basically a limp bag of potatoes begging for attention. “My shift isn’t over for another hour. I can’t take off early again, Kane will kick me out of the programme if I--”

“I would love to help, Clarke,” Wells says, regret coating his voice as he offers Madi his finger to latch into, swaying her hand back and forth absently to distract her. “But the neuro unit is understaffed and they asked me to help out with their new admissions.”

She can’t even hate him for it. Wells is a good friend, but an even better doctor, and probably the best person alive. It’s why she loves him. He won’t let any patients suffer to do her a favor when he knows he could probably have his dad throw another donation towards the hospital to convince Kane not to fire her. 

It’s not like she doesn’t appreciate it, when he tries to pull in favors for her, especially knowing it comes from a good place, but it’s not the way she wants to make it. She’s worked hard to get here, and there’s ton of single moms out there working their asses off day in and day out with no help whatsoever. She should be able to do the same. People already think her mom’s name on the side of the hospital got her here in the first place, even before Madi. She doesn’t want to reinforce that idea any more than she has to.

Clarke tries so hard, and it’s just never good enough. Something always has to get in the way. She just wishes the universe would work out in her favor, just this once.

She sends Wells an understanding smile, even though she can’t help but let the sadness around the edges seep through, watching Madi drop his finger to rub her eye with her tiny, pudgy fist. “I understand, I’ll just --”

“Clarke?” A vaguely familiar deep voice rings out, and she turns, hoisting Madi further up her hip. She’s actually getting _ too _ heavy for Clarke to carry her around all the time anymore but the little girl doesn’t seem to care, just snuggles further into her neck at the sight of a stranger.

“Bellamy.” Clarke says, glancing between him and Wells, who suddenly looks more than interested as he ignores his pager buzzing in his pocket again. 

“Hey,” he responds, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Her eyes rake down his body, taking in the brace around his knee. He looks just like she remembers, albeit a little tired. “I overheard what you were saying and -- well, I could look after her for a while, if you want to?” He stares at her face for a beat too long, making a flush creep up her neck. With pride, he urges, “I’m good with kids, I promise. I practically raised my sister.”

He saw her with a child and didn't immediately take off running -- that's a nice change of pace. Clarke considers it. He was a one night stand. Can she really justify leaving her child with him? Besides, “You’re practically a stranger.” 

“To you maybe,” Bellamy cuts in immediately, not being able to stop from a smirk taking over his face. She can’t help but feel like the two of them are hiding a secret, even if it that’s not actually the case. He never told her not to tell anyone, she just decided not to. “Everyone in this town knows me, I doubt I’d be able to get far with a child they haven’t seen me with before.”

Her resolve already begins to falter, brow furrowing together despite of it. “I couldn’t possibly ask that of you --”

“I’m waiting for my check-up scans to get back anyway. I would just be sitting in the waiting area,” he argues skillfully, raising his eyebrows, and she wants to smack that playful grin right off his face. God, he’s annoying. “_Bored._ You’d be doing me a favor.”

“Clarke, I have to run,” Wells cuts in quietly, giving Bellamy a nod in greeting before squeezing her arm as she offers him an absentminded smile in acknowledgement. “Yeah, thanks anyway.” 

Wells sends her another pointed look that leaves no doubt in her mind they’ll be discussing this later before he disappears around the corner, leaving the three of them standing in a half-abandoned entrance hall. It’s late, around 7 pm but already dark outside, most of the non-necessary personnel and visitors safe at home.

A silence stretches between them, and she sighs, breaking it. Clarke takes a step closer to him, gently running a hand over Madi’s hair as she worries her bottom lip. “I don’t know. She takes a while to warm up strangers.” 

The little girl has lifted her head by now, thumb lodged in between her lips and stuffed rabbit hanging off her wrist as she blinks at him with growing interest. Her mom doesn't make a lot of new friends often, not any Madi doesn't know about anyway, so it must be curious to her. 

“I’m Bellamy,” he says, voice gentle and face soft because _of fucking course_ he had to be good with children. “A friend of your mom.”

Madi doesn’t say anything, looks up at her mom. Clarke nods at her, gives her a comforting smile. Shyly, she reveals, “Madi.” 

“And who is this?” Bellamy asks, pulling on the rabbit’s paw softly. The stuffed animal is pink, wearing boots, an eye-cap and a pirate’s hat. It was a gift from her uncle Jasper when she was just a baby. She hardly remembers him, but she never goes anywhere without the thing. It's comforting to Clarke, almost like he's looking over in his own strange way. 

A reluctant smile covers her features, eyes brighter than they've been since Clarke picked her up from daycare. “Bootsy.“

“Ah, right,” Bellamy answers, knowingly, like he’s fairly well known with Bootsy’s reputation and he didn’t literally just find out about it's existence. Teasingly, he adds, “Madi and Bootsy. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard a few great stories about them.”

“You have?” Madi’s eyes widen excitedly, sniffling quietly. Clarke’s heart breaks in her chest. Maybe she really is getting sick.

“Hmm,” he retorts, easily, soft, open expression on his face. “What do you say we show Bootsy the waiting room together and I can tell you about one of their adventures?”

Madi nods eagerly, then seems to remember the woman currently carrying her. She puts her hand on top of Clarke’s jaw, like she wasn’t already looking at her, digging her clammy little fingers in. “Mommy -- can I go, mommy?”

The blonde smiles at the little girl in her arms, before directing her gaze back onto Bellamy. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” Clarke wonders, worried, looking down at the brace around his knee again.

“I’m sure,” he says, amused, offering Madi his hand. She takes it easily, wrapping her fingers around his thumb and he takes this as an opportunity to lift her out of Clarke’s arms before she can up with another dumb excuse as to why she can’t let him help her out.

Clarke hesitates, then licks her lips, hastily urging, “Let me give you my number, in case she needs me, or you have to go home or something.”

He presses his lips together, and she just knows he’s trying to keep a smug smirk from breaking through on his face. “Better late than never.”

Clarke glares at him as he fishes his phone from his back pocket with his free hand. She puts her number in, then stands there stupidly, fiddling with the strap of Madi’s bag around her shoulder nervously. “Here’s her bag.” She holds it out, concern still lacing her voice. “There’s snacks in there, some juice, tissues for when--”

He raises his eyebrows, cuts her off. “Don’t worry. I’ll find it. And we’ll be right there --” He nods his head over to the waiting area, a look on his face that’s not unkind, “_whenever _you’re ready.” 

Bellamy takes the bag from her shoulder, slinging it over his own. It looks ridiculous, such a big man with a tiny pink unicorn backpack hanging from his arm. Her heart swells, and then her pager buzzes in her pocket and she’s shooting him a regretful look. 

“I really have to go.” She steps forward, cupping Madi’s face. She glances up at him, thankful, a little taken aback by how close they’re standing and how long familiar his eyes feel ons hers. Turning back to her daughter quickly, she tells her, delicately, “Be good, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

Madi puckers her mouth for a kiss and Clarke gives to her all-too-willingly and soon _before you know_ _it_ turns into two and a half hours when she ends up getting dragged into replacing a resident in the final hours of a surgery and then having to finish all the charting she wanted to do before her day went to shit.

Well, it wasn’t _ too _ bad to see Bellamy again. Even if by now he probably regrets trying to do her any favors. What Clarke doesn’t expect is to come back to Madi standing in between Bellamy’s knees as she paints his fingernails with a glittery purple polish. Her backpack is open on a chair a few seats over, contents thrown all over it. 

“Mommy -- Aunt Harp visiteded and now we have matching nails,” Madi tells her, apples of her cheeks blossomed red with exertion, and Clarke doesn’t have the energy to correct her grammar as the little girl wiggles her fingers excitedly. Wells must’ve told Harper to check up on them, considering she was also on shift, working as a nurse in the ER. “And Bell-my told me a story about a princess just like me and a rabbit just like Bootsy and how they saved the palace and all the animals and all the people in it.”

“Did he now?” Clarke says, bemused, sinking down in the seat besides Bellamy’s with a tired sigh. She doesn’t have it in her to smile, but it’s implied by the tone of her voice.

“Hmmm.” She nods excitedly, causing the brush to slide up all the way to Bellamy’s knuckle. “Oops,” she says, blinking up at him with big innocent eyes, framed by her tiny bushy brows. This girl knows exactly what she's doing and it kind of scares Clarke sometimes. 

“That’s okay,” he jumps in quickly, deep voice gentle, waggling his finger while he playfully pinches her side softly with his free, already dried hand. “I like it.”

Madi giggles as she tries to dodge his hand then beams, dipping the brush back into the bottle on the third try and going back to focusing on the rest of his fingernails. Clarke leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes briefly. She could fall asleep just like this, hands folded over her stomach. “I hope she didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Nah,” he returns happily, with a fond grin. “She’s great. We had juice and shared stories and then she asked my doctor if he was as good as you.”

Clarke laughs, eyes zeroing in on the empty plastic pouches on the table in front of them as she sits up, already feeling more alive than moments before. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay," he answers, obviously finding it hilarious. "I think Nyko agreed he could never measure up to you anyway.”

She flushes, chest feeling constricted with too many feelings. He says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, like there isn't a very short but remarkable history between the two of them they're both avoiding talking about. Or she is, and he is good at picking up her signals. “Well. Thank you.” He holds her gaze and she takes the coward’s way out. “For doing this.”

“Especially after you dodged me like that, you mean.” He doesn’t sound all too offended, luckily. 

“I,” Clarke starts, then shakes her head slightly, eyes turning regretful. Maybe she at least owes him the truth, after all of this. “I didn’t think you’d want me to stay.”

His forehead creases up just enough to be noticeable, adjusting his hand on his thigh so Madi has better acces to his thumb. “What gave you that idea?”

“It’s not like we got off on the right foot," she retorts easily, knowing she's not wrong. They started off insulting each other and while that chemistry turned out to work in the bedroom very well, that didn't mean it would the morning after. It's not like he gave her any obvious hints it wasn't just that for him. "I thought it was a one time thing.”

“Well, I take absolutely no great pleasure in telling you this,” Bellamy grins widely, easily, implying he does definitely take great pleasure in this, “but you were wrong.”

She laughs, elbows him in the ribs. Madi scolds her mother loudly, telling her Bellamy has to sit still while she works. A comfortable silence stretches between them as they watch her daughter paint his last finger with her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Clarke bites down on her bottom lip, studying the side of his profile. She doesn't know if he meant she was wrong about him not wanting her to stay or about it being a one time thing, but something makes her ask him, “What about now?”

She’s afraid to look at him. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, she got her hopes up despite knowing better. She doesn’t want to see the pity in his eyes when he rejects her. They always do. Nobody wants a damaged doctor with a three and half year old child. 

He lifts the shoulder closest to hers. “I don’t see how it changes anything.” Bellamy shifts his head to look at her and his insistent gaze leaves her a little breathless. “My life is kind of a mess right now. Me and my sister are on bad terms. I don’t know if my knee will ever get better, if I’ll ever play rugby again and what the hell I’m gonna do if I can’t -- and I don’t know. You’re -- I like you. At least there’s that.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, then nods, just once. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He lifts his brows.

Clarke bites her lip, hand hesistantly sliding up his forearm resting beside her, squeezing briefly. “Yeah.”

“We can get coffee sometime. You kind of owe me anyway,” he teases, and she likes him, too. At least there's that. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?" She blinks at him, mentally going over her schedule. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy snorts, without much mirth but enough to know he’s not upset. “I don’t have a lot to do these days.”

She grins at his joke, then it fades slightly, “I probably can’t find a babysitter on such a short notice.”

“Take her." He lifts one shoulder, half-heartedly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. We’ll go somewhere kid friendly.”

“Okay. Text me the address," she agrees, their eyes locked for a second longer than necessary, then smiles, or tells herself she's smiling because of what happens next and not because of him, turning back to her daughter. “Mads, you’re about done?”

It takes her four tries to put the cap back on the bottle, then she insists Clarke takes a picture of their matching nails. It’s cute, her little pale pudgy hands on top of Bellamy’s and Bootsy's paws in the frame too because they _can't take a picture without Bootsy, mommy_. Clarke tells herself to get a grip. Before she leaves, her eyes linger on his a moment too long. She swallows, then tells him. “Thanks again.”

“My pleasure, princess.” 


	2. i feel it in my body, know it in my mind i'm gonna love you for a long time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i fucking despise this with every cell in my body but here it is, about three months after i said i would upload it👅💦👊 and yes kisha, meha: cyberbullying works. anyway YES THIS IS ALL FUCKING GODDAMN FLUFF. PRETEND ITS FEB 14TH AND SWALLOW YOUR COMPLAINTS LIKE THE GOOD GIRL YOU ARE. YOURE NOT MY FATHER SUCK A DICK AND ASK ME IF I GIVE A FUCK?

“So,” Clarke says, sipping on her coffee to give herself some more time to get the nervosity out of her voice. Why should she be nervous? She’s buying him a drink as a thank you for babysitting her child. She’s better than this  —  _ cooler _ . Instead, she burns her tongue and flinches visibly before she just starts talking, “How did you end up back here? I mean, not to shoot myself in the foot,” nor does she really care about the reputation of her job amongst the rich folks she used to be one of, “but we’re just a small town hospital.”

Bellamy presses his lips together to keep from smiling, corners of his lips giving it away. Thankfully for her dignity, he ignores her screw-up and just answers her question. “I had my initial surgery at Mt. Weather, some expensive private clinic all the celebs go to,” serious eye-roll implied, “My agent got me a top notch surgeon,” an actual rolling of his beautiful pecan-colored eyes that she can’t help but be drawn to, “but they agreed to let me get my check-ups here.”

She knows private clinics and the doctors that work there. They don’t like other people striking up credit for their work. Especially not if their work is a famous rugby player. Clarke cocks a skeptic eyebrow, folding her hands around her cup to warm them up. “Agreed?”

“Well, I informed them politely I didn’t feel like travelling back and forth each week.” He takes a sip of his cappuccino, swiping a small dot of foam off his top lip with his thumb, and then shrugs, averting his eyes as if the subject is an uncomfortable one for him. “Besides, people here know me but they’re also used to me. They mostly leave me alone.”

“That makes sense,” Clarke muses, then gazes over at the ball pit that Madi is diving around in with an absent smile on her face. Luckily her cold turned out to be just a cold, nothing some soup and a good night’s sleep couldn’t make feel better. 

He lowers his voice, glancing over at her daughter too. He looks almost apologetic for asking. “Does — I mean, do you still speak to her father?”

It’s a question she gets often. It makes sense, people get curious when they see a young woman raise a child by herself. Especially in a town as small as this. 

Usually she doesn’t bother getting into the whole thing, but she finds herself wanting to tell him. He has an undeniable charm to him, but an even more undeniable warmth, drawing her in. 

Clarke licks her lips, opens her mouth. Glancing over at him, she closes it again. THe small smile he offers her pushes her forward. “She’s not mine.” Her eyes flutter shut briefly, fingers tightening around her thighs, bracing herself for impact. She hardly knows him, and something tells her she wouldn’t be able to bear it if his reaction was disappointing. “Not biologically, anyway. She was my friend’s Luna. She died when Madi was just a baby.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment, the moment in which Clarke has to build up the courage to look back at his face. His expression is gentle, understanding in his eyes. “You’ve done a great thing,” he says, cautiously, voice soft. He clears his throat, like it somehow strikes him more than it should. “Taking her in.”

“I like to think so,” she agrees, a weight dropping off her shoulders as she meets his kind smile with one of her own. Even if the smile fades a little around the edges as the past three years flass across her mind like an emotional whirlwind. “Even if not everyone agreed.”

She can roll her eyes about it now, but at the time it was all happening it hurt. She just lost her friend, and all people could do was judge her for wanting her daughter to end up with someone who could take care of her. She didn’t want Madi to be another number in the system, knew that wasn’t something Luna would want either. 

And Clarke  —  Clarke had  _ many  _ times doubted if she could even offer Madi such a thing herself. She was a mess in the middle of her residency, completely out of touch with her own emotions and with no real idea of what it took to raise a child. She did some growing up, acknowledged some hard truths, grieved some old hurt and finally convinced herself she could do it, and she didn’t need the people who loved her to tell her she was wrong. That she would fail. That Madi didn’t belong with her. That there was a better family out there for her. 

He rolls his lips together, hesitation coating his voice. “Someone you’re close with?”

Clarke sighs, sitting back in her chair as she rubs the middle of her forehead with the palm of her hand. “My friends told me I was crazy. My mom didn’t like me putting my career on hold so now we barely talk. My girlfriend didn’t want kids so she gave me an ultimatum.”

She says it like a chant, a story she’s told a thousand times, probably because she has gone over it a million times in her own head. She’s over it, over them holding so much power over her happiness. She loves Madi, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her, nothing can change that. Nothing else matters. 

His eyebrows crease together briefly, then he shakes his head lightly looking back over at Madi for a quick moment. “Sucks for them. She’s awesome.” Her chest glows with warmth, and it’s hard to keep the grin on her face from showing when he purses his lips, amused. “You know, I had one of my friends actually called CPS on me in high school once, just because I skipped on a Halo session to babysit my sister.”

Clarke grimaces, because  _ yikes _ , then teases, “It’s not a competition, you know.”

“Why, because I’m winning?” He smirks, all cocky and annoying, and Clarke finds herself half-heartedly glaring at him, throwing her crumpled napkin into his general direction. “Yeah,” Bellamy sighs, mock-wistfully as he smooths out her napkin on the table, hands always busy doing something, “Me and Murphy didn’t speak for a while after that.”

“Can’t imagine why,” she deadpans in return, and then they’re both laughing, not because they’re being particularly funny, but more a light conclusion to a heavy cumulation of a charged emotional moment shared between them and their all-too-similar traumas. 

A comfortable silence wraps around them once their laughter fades and they resume watching Madi play. Until Clarke starts to go over everything in her head and makes it awkward for herself. Starts to question everything that’s happened, been said. Every little doubt in the back of her mind, every little touch between them, every little word she’s spoken to him. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, finally, refusing to take her eyes off the ball pit even when she can see from the corner of her eye how his face turns back to her. Her hands folded around her coffee cup on top of the table, knuckles a stark white. She swallows tightly. “For leaving like that. It’s just — ”

“I get it, Clarke,” he reassures her pointedly before she even finishes her sentence, big hand coming up to rest on her wrist comfortingly. Her face snaps towards his. “You have Madi to think about.”

She presses her lips together, doesn’t say anything. She’s grateful, at least, that he seems to understand without her having to spell it out for him. That after a while, she just stopped trying to see the good in people trying to get close to her. That it was easier to push people away and guard her own feelings and those of Madi. It also makes tears prick at the back of her eyes for no reason. Besides Monty and Harper and Wells, no one’s ever really gotten  _ why _ she took in Madi when she barely had her own life together. Most of her old friends don’t get what it means to love and raise someone who can’t take care of themself yet. It seems like he doesn’t even have to try. 

For some reason, the sound of his deep voice surprises her when he talks again, “Can I ask you something?”

She finally meets his eye again, not able to look away this time. “Yeah?”

He raises his eyebrows, corners of his mouth turned up almost smugly. “Did you really not know who I was?”

Clarke tilts her head back slightly, grateful for the lighter change of subject. “Do I look like the type of person who watches rugby?”

His eyebrows disappear even further into his hairline, his arms folding across his chest as he leans back in his chair. “What does someone who watches rugby look like?”

She’s talked herself into a corner and she knows it. “Does it help if I say I would’ve started watching sooner if I’d known you all looked like that?”

Bellamy’s smirk widens, almighty expression on his face. “Like what?”

She scoffs, pretends to wipe some crumbs off her lap. “You own a mirror, you know what you look like.”

“So specifically me, then?” He teases, leaning forward, elbows on the table. He’s so amused with himself, the asshole. “Or are you trying to get to one of my teammates through me? Because I can’t promise you I won’t sabotage it out of jealousy.”

There it is. That casual implication of something  _ more _ between them. Her heartbeat speeds up before she gets any say in it, pounding loudly in her chest. She doesn’t want to, but she likes him, she likes him, she likes him.

“Shut up.” She decides to own it, straightening her shoulders. “You know you’re hot.”

Bellamy lets out a ‘humpfh’ sound, like he’s trying to figure something out as he holds her gaze. Clarke refuses to look away, even when she physically feels her neck start to flush under it. A slow smirk starts to form on his face, and then he’s opening his mouth, “Mommy, apple juice!”

Except it’s not his mouth that moves, the sound not even close to the tone of his voice. Clarke freezes, blinking at him apologetically before turning towards her kid, currently tugging on the sleeve of her sweater. Madi bats her eyes sweetly, “Apple juice?”

She reaches down to pick up Madi’s backpack from the floor, giving her a stern look as she places it on her lap. “Can you ask it politely?”

Clarke sure there’s an implied eyeroll in her tone as Madi tilts her head almost challengingly. “Can I  _ please _ have apple juice, please?”

“Good job,” the blonde grumbles in a likewise tone, zipping open the bag to hand her a pouch of juice after she’s put the straw in. Madi greedily grabs it, stumbling over to Bellamy to climb onto his lap without asking for permission. It’s almost sweet, how quickly she’s warmed up to him, a casual kind of familiarity between the two of them. He really does have a way with kids. 

Bellamy laughs, a warm, deep sound that almost makes a shudder go up her spine. _Almost_ — she’s an adult and she can keep it together while in public and in the presence of a child. He lifts the little girl by the waist slightly to move her further to the left, away from his bad knee, staring down at her. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

“Thank you, mommy,” Madi says, almost robotically as she leans back into Bellamy’s chest, settling in with her head lolled back as she starts slurping noisily on the drink, blinking slowly as she observes her surroundings. 

She’s lazy, that much Clarke knows, always cuddling up to someone, pretending to be innocent to get people to do things for her and refusing to walk places if she has anything to say about it. She’s lucky Bellamy hasn’t her figured her out yet. Clarke less so, the sight of the two of them making her bite down on her bottom lip and her chest feel five times too small for the current size of her heart. 

“Another story Bell-my?” Madi tugs on his shirt with one hand, trying to get his attention. He takes the juice from her so she can snuggle further into his chest without spilling it. Her eyes flick over to her mom’s briefly, “ _ Please _ .”

Bellamy stifles a snort, sending Clarke an amused smile. She shakes her head slightly, pursing her lips — _brat _— listening as he launches into another adventure of Bootsy and the princess; crossing magical lands and rivers, fighting dragons and saving innocent defenseless creatures from the bad guys. The small girl sucks her thumb into her mouth as she listens carefully and Clarke doesn’t have the heart to reprimand her, a much too peaceful look on her face.

He looks over at her after a while, grin widening as he catches her already looking at him. His hair is a little bit messy and his eyes are bright and his arms look amazing in the dark shirt he’s wearing and she smiles back. Liking Bellamy is inadvertent in a way that bothers her  — she tries hard to guard herself and Madi, protect her from getting attached and the imminent heartbreak coming along with it, keep some distance, but it’s useless. Madi giggles at one of his jokes, bright and bubbly and absolutely enamoured, snapping her out of it. It’s clear they’re both absolutely gone and Clarke isn’t naive enough to think she could do anything to stop it at this point.

* * *

Bellamy is pretty much a consistent in their daily lives in the two weeks after that. The next day, he wants to cook her dinner in return for the coffee, even if the coffee was her returning the favor for him looking after Madi in the hospital. It’s a lousy excuse to come over, but she takes it all-too-willingly and with both eyes wide open. It’s not a hardship, being around him. In fact, it’s kind of annoying how easy it really is. 

Some days he comes over for breakfast before she has to go to work and he has to go to physical therapy, or other days they hold Disney movie marathons on the living room floor huddled together under Madi’s Cars themed blankets, or they go to the park and have self-made picnics and get sand in places they don’t want to have sand. 

Bellamy kind of creeps up on the two of them, he’s nowhere and then everywhere all at once. And it’s frustrating. She feels like she’s going insane. Clarke likes him, but she also _likes_ likes him. She wants to hold his hand and kiss him good morning and share her bed with him, and not even because she has gotten laid since their hook-up. She hasn’t gone this hard for anyone in so long, always careful not to let anyone in that might possibly leave them for something else, something less complicated, something better. But he’s with her, them, almost every day, happy even, to be with them, and all at once, one day watching him pretend to lose a game of Hi-Ho Cherry-O to Madi, it hits her in the chest with the force of a thousand bricks. 

She trusts him, and she likes him, and she wants  _ more. _ God, does she want that. Hasn’t allowed herself to want such a thing in a long time and here she is. Wanting him, of all people. 

Yet, he gives her zero clues as to if that’s something he’s even remotely interested in too. He touches her a lot, casual, amical. Like his arm around the back of the couch as they binge the Descendants movies and take them way too seriously. Nudging her with his foot under the table jokingly as Madi babbles on about something and accidentally makes half an innuendo. His hand on the small of her back as he helps her grocery shop for the week because it’s ‘the least he can do when he eats all their food’. Their knees brushing as they sit on a park bench and watch her daughter on the see-saw. It’s all innocent enough, nothing that couldn’t be seen as friendly touches. There’s no kissing, not on the cheek or the forehead, no use of lips whatsoever, not even an almost kiss that she can use to fill her sleepless nights and convince herself it isn’t all in her head. 

“Only you would play house with your one night stand,” Monty tells her as he tops off her glass of wine. It’s barely four p.m., but with Clarke’s emotional state, day drinking is where it’s at these days. Especially since she just laid out her entire love life to them, or lack thereof. Over the years she has at least gotten a little better at that, sharing her problems. Plus, the drinking. It helps.

Bellamy picked Madi up from daycare early to take her to see the new Frozen movie in theatres and Clarke took advantage of the alone time to drive straight over to the Greens’ house after work. She is horrible at this sort of shit, and the two of them are married so they must’ve done something right once upon a time. 

“I can’t believe this is all thanks to me,” Harper gloats, slumping back in her kitchen chair with a self-satisfied grin on her face. 

Clarke pretends not to have noticed the way the other blonde poured herself a disgusting-looking smoothie when she pulled out the wine glasses, even though she usually joins Clarke for a drink, nor the slight rounding of her face. She’s incredibly happy for them, and she’ll fake surprise once they’re ready to share the news, but it makes it even harder to talk to them and makes her regret she spilled her feelings to them in the first place. She’s better off burying them, like always. 

They did everything  _ aggravatingly _ right, in the correct order, even. They met in college and got married straight after before now years later starting a family, only _ after _ both finding a happy place in their respectable careers. Clarke has a daughter, and although Bellamy obviously adores her, she’s not his and it’s a lot to ask of someone. A lot of responsibility that he might not even want. Just asking him flat out if he wants to go on a date with her might be fooling herself  _ and _ him. 

“Shut up,” Clarke nudges her with her elbow, turning her eyes on Monty teasingly and a pretty obvious ploy at trying to distract them away from the subject that is her own love life. All so she can duck out of here in a few minutes and press herself as close against Bellamy as is socially acceptable while they play Feed The Woozle stretched out in front of the coffee table, pretending like her heart is not trying to beat itself out of her ribcage just by being near him. “I’d watch out if I were you  — she told me she’d leave you for him.”

Monty’s eyebrow shoot up, but there’s a calm expression on his face, more humoured than upset. It must be nice, Clarke thinks, to have so much faith in your partner you feel certain, without doubt. She’s refused herself something like that for so long, and she doesn’t want to do that anymore and that’s frankly, fucking scary. 

“Hey,” Harper scrambles up into a more upright position, clearing her throat, brows furrowed together almost offended. “That was  _ before _ I knew you called first dibs. Girl code would never allow me now.”

“Yeah, girl code,” Monty repeats dryly, as Clarke barks out a laugh. “Not the fact we said for better or worse in front of all our friends and family and signed a legally binding contract.”

“Ever heard of a celebrity free pass?” She counters, easily, arms crossed over her chest. “You know I’d let you get down with Gaylord Nelson if the opportunity presented itself.”

“He’s  _ dead _ . Bellamy Blake is very much alive and apparently now part of our close social circle.”

She glares at him. “He’s a national hero, Monty.”

“So I get ghost-sex and you get a literal Adonis that by the looks of Clarke lately has a lot more tricks up his sleeve than I do and is walking around in our own neighbourhood up for grabs?”

“ _ No _ , since his claim has  _ obviously  _ been staked, I change my celebrity free pass to his second in command and right wing Zeke Shaw.”

“Guys, I think I’m going to head out,” Clarke murmurs, lifting her bag in her lap, not sure if she’s witnessing the start of a fight or somehow ended up in the middle of their strange foreplay with the way they’re smiling at each other all sickenly. God, she hopes she isn’t this obvious.

“Not so fast. You’re not getting off the hook that easily,” Monty opposes, tearing his eyes off his wife, leaning over the counter to put his hand over Clarke’s wrist to stop her from sliding off the stool. “I know you. You are getting all into your own head. You wouldn’t come here to complain if you didn’t need something.”

“I’m fine guys,” she insists, grip tightening around her bag. She changed her mind. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to look like a fool for thinking her feelings might be reciprocated. “My life isn’t a romcom. He’s probably just bored here, waiting until he can get back on the field. We’re a way to pass the time.”

Harper’s face softens, and she tilts her head, arms crossed over her chest. “I know you don’t think that lowly of yourself.”

“I don’t know. I just can’t imagine a world in which someone would actually  —  in which he would actually like me back the way I like him,” she returns, licking her lips as her eyes dart around the room as she processes the truth she’s finally allowed herself to say out loud. She shrugs, half-heartedly. “There’s been so much opportunities for him to make a move, and he never has.” 

Countless. Madi playing with one of her friends on the slide, not paying them any attention. Every time she walked him out to the door to say goodnight. And there was that one time just the other day he offered to read Madi a bedtime story while she showered, washing the horrible work day off her. On his way downstairs to wait for her to finish, he ran into her in only a towel. 

Time seemed to slow. Her knuckles turned white with the way they were holding onto the only thing covering her. He pulled his hands off her elbows like he’d been burned. His eyes followed a drop of water disappearing in between the valley of her breasts. She cleared her throat, he averted his gaze, flicking over to her bare legs one more time before training them on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn’t say anything, his shoulders stiff. A sick feeling of humiliation washed over her, and tears pricked at her eyes. She apologized for bumping into him and quickly disappeared back into her bedroom. When she came downstairs, fully dressed in her pyjamas, he pretended like nothing happened safe from his knee bumping up and down nervously. They made it through one episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine until he rushed off. 

Either he has the craziest amount of self-restraint, or he really just thinks one time with her was enough and he doesn’t know how to tell her. 

“Have you?” Monty argues back skillfully. It’s not exactly judgement lining his voice, but it’s something terribly similar. Clarke’s eyes flick over to him and his eyebrows just disappear further into his hairline, annoyingly logical as always, “I mean if he’s getting mixed signals from you and he likes spending time with you and Madi, he might not want to take the risk either.”

“I don’t — ” She huffs, and puffs. They weren’t supposed to be so rational. It’s on herself, though. If deep down she didn’t want rationality, she shouldn’t have gone to them. “God, I don’t  — how do I even tell him something like that?”

The last time she talked to someone with the intent to move their relationship from friendship to romance was when she was eight. (It was Wells. She didn’t even mean it, just scared to death of her sudden attraction to her new twelve year old neighbour Niylah.) Finn literally chased her for months before they became a thing, and Lexa just kind of, quite literally  — took the lead.  It wasn’t so much a conversation as it was a welcome surprise kiss. 

“Hmm…” Harper taps her chin, lost in thought, as if taking her request seriously. “Me and Monty never confessed anything really. I think at one point the tension just got too much and as soon as we got the results of our bio lab project back, we rolled into bed together.”

“The only A+ in my life that’s mattered,” Monty says sweetly, leaning down to press a kiss to his wife’s head after folding an arm around her shoulders. 

“You guys are sickening,” Clarke groans, scrunching up her nose, unlocking her phone to check the time. “And I really have to go, the movie should be over soon.”

Harper moves around the kitchen island to hug her, squeezing her tightly. She smells nice, like cotton candy, reminding her of the fairs her dad just to take her to. “Just take a risk for once, okay? Even if it doesn’t work out  — Madi is strong, she gets that from you.”

Monty is next, his fingers digging into her sides as they sway lightly. “You deserve to be happy, too.” Clarke presses a kiss to his cheek, giving the both of them a grateful look once her fingers wrap around the backdoor’s handle. “Thank you guys, again.”

Only one foot over the threshold, Harper calls after her, “And don’t forget dinner with the whole gang this Saturday! And  _ no _ excuses, so plan your confession around that!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, fiddling through her purse for her keys. She hates it when they throw dinner parties and invite all their friends. She always feels out of place, like no one actually wants her there. The stranger who didn’t go to the same high school as them and never gets their inside jokes. The girl who had the audacity to sit front row at Jasper’s funeral when they’d all known him for  _ so much _ longer, yet failed to check up on him even once in the months leading up to it. The only one with a kid. 

Before she ignites her car, her phone buzzes in her pocket and she checks it, just to be sure there’s nothing wrong with Madi. Except it’s not Bellamy. 

**Monty [04:18 PM]**

_ we have an important announcement  _

**Monty [04:18 PM] **

_ you’re not allowed to miss it again, clarke!!! _

**Monty [04:18 PM] **

_ saturday, 7 o’clock do not be late _

Maybe there is a platonic way in which she can ask Bellamy to come. Or maybe she should take their advice for once, make it a non-platonic way. She’ll figure it out once she asks him.

When she pulls up to the driveway, Bellamy and Madi are lodged on the bed of his truck, on of each of their legs dangling of the ledge as they sit sideways and play slapsies. He’s obviously letting her win and seriously overacting how powerful her slaps are, Madi’s giggles heard way before Clarke is close enough to actually see them. 

“Hey,” she smiles brightly, opening her arms for Madi as she walks up to them. The little girl launches herself at her, and Clarke presses her lips against the crown of her head, swaying her in her arms a little. “Did you guys have fun?”

Madi nods against her chest enthusiastically, suddenly a lot like lead in her arms as she rubs her eyes. “Bell-my got me popcorn  _ and _ skittles!” She pronounces skittles like ‘schkiddles’ and Clarke has to purse her lips to keep from letting out a laugh. 

Bellamy pretends to shush her conspiratorially as he maneuvers his way down to the ground carefully, keeping his weight of his injured knee. It makes Madi giggle and Clarke stifles an amused smile as she meets his eye. 

“Hmm. And the movie?” She inquires pointedly, trying hard to keep a straight face, eyebrows creased sternly as she nods towards the house, signing for Bellamy to follow her. 

“Oh, mommy,” Madi starts almost wistfully, suddenly not sounding all that tired anymore as she goes to explain the plot of the movie in great detail, out of chronological order nonetheless, while they move inside. 

Bellamy cooks them Dora-shaped pasta, insisting it’s his speciality. Afterwards, she puts a very sleepy Madi to bed, and finds him downstairs at the kitchen table, his leg propped up on one of the chairs, holding a bag of ice against his knee. 

She slides a chair up beside his, taking over the bag from him so he doesn’t have to bend in an awkward angle to reach his knee. Clarke gives him a supportive smile, “You okay?”

He grins back, just wincing slightly as she adjusts the bag. “Yeah, it’s all just taking a little longer than I’d hoped.” Clarke wants to ask him about it, dig a little deeper and figure out how he’s really feeling, but then his eyes light up and her breath catches in the back of her throat because she’s an idiot. “So the guys made it to the finals.” 

“I know,” she muses with a pointed look, squinting her eyes at him like she thinks he’s actually forgotten about it and was skeptical about his memory. “We watched the game together, and you’ve reminded me about every ten to fifteen minutes.”

He raises his eyebrows, free hand matting down the front part of his curls, moving it away from his forehead. “It’s this weekend.”

Clarke just hums affirmatively, preoccupied by studying his knee, comparing it to his other one to see if there’s a significant size-difference. Then he speaks again, the quiet nervosity in his voice making her eyes snap up, “Do you and Madi maybe want to come see us beat South Africa to a pulp?”

She almost drops the ice all-together as she gapes at him, his hand covering hers just in time. It makes warmth spread from her hand to the centre of her chest and she swallows tightly, somehow managing to collect together a bunch of scraps of courage that create a tone of voice that not entirely represents ‘ _ having it together _ ’, but resembles it close enough, “You can’t even go a few days without us?”

“Well, no,” he grins, letting go of her hand again as he sits back in his chair. He ducks his head for a second, almost shyly as he pulls on a loose thread on the bottom of his blue t-shirt. Bellamy swallows tighty, shrugging a little, and she knows a more truer version of his answer is about to follow. “I don’t.. I guess this team means a lot to me, and they’ve worked hard to get to the finals and I don’t know  —  it wouldn’t feel right to not share that with you two.”

Bellamy’s so good at that. Saying what he’s feeling so honestly, doing something  _ because  _ of what he’s feeling so bravely. She wishes she was a little bit more like that, that she had enough courage left to just come out and tell him she wants to go, more than anything, but preferably as his girlfriend. And if he doesn’t want that, that’s cool too, she’ll come as his friend. 

Instead she licks her lips, changing hands so she can rest the one closest to him right above his knee. She worries her bottom lip, figures fuck it, then says, “I can’t make any promises. I’d have to see if someone can swap shifts with me — ”

He grasps her fingers with his, cutting her off with a blinding grin. Her heart stutters in her chest and she tells herself to just say. Say it. “But you want to come?”

She opens her mouth, but instead of saying _ it, _ she replies, genuinely, “If it means that much to you, of course we want to come.”

Bellamy carefully lifts his leg of the chair with a small hiss, lowering it to the floor, then scoots over to the edge of his chair. There’s a beat and then he’s pulling her into a embrace, hands warm on her waist and face buried in her neck. They probably hug for a little while longer than necessary, her heart rate calming significantly before he pulls back. His eyes glint in the dim kitchen light, and maybe she’s imaging the tears, but her chest aches painfully anyway. 

They stare at each other a little helplessly and then he apologizes, explaining, “It’s just  — it’s going to be hard, being back there. And I know if I can look beside me and see you, and see Madi, it could never be that bad.”

How can she say no to that? The bad part of her brain tells her that,  _ see, _ he’s just using them as some fucked up crutch to get through his quarter-life crisis after a life-changing injury is keeping him from his life’s purpose. That she shouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for it. That once he’s back to playing rugby, he’ll forget all about them. The better part of her brain tells her that this, _ this is it. _ Finally someone who doesn’t see her and Madi as a burden, but as something that enriches his life, makes it better. Today, she remembers Harper’s words, cotton candy and riding the roller coaster until she felt sick. Her dad always saw the good in people.  _ Have a little faith _ . Today, she makes herself choose the better part. 

The next day, while getting changed into their scrubs, she complains to Wells about not knowing who to ask this time to cover her shifts, and he practically jumps at the chance to volunteer. When she protests, insists it’s too much to ask, he folds his hands around her arms and squeezes, hard. Tells her, “Clarke, I’d fill in for you for the rest of the year if it meant I’d finally get to see your real smile this often again.”

Her eyes well with tears without her permission at his unexpected words. “Wells — ”

“Don’t,” he cuts her off sternly, if she’s not even sure what she would have said. His eyes soften, his grip on her biceps loosening. There’s empathy in his voice, not pity, and to Clarke there’s a huge difference. “You’ve checked out, Griffin, don’t even try to deny it,” he half-teases, smile faltering. “What you’ve done for Madi  — not everyone would have. But you deserve more than always walking around on eggshells, forcing yourself to be from the outside looking in.”

She can’t really argue with that, because Wells has seen her at her absolute worst and at her absolute best and he knows exactly what settling for a dull middle looks like on her. So she hugs him instead, already coming up with a list of ways to pay him back. 

It feels serious to take a sort of family holiday together when they’ve only been friends  — that went from zero to one-hundred in the span of a couple days  —  for a few weeks, but she guesses the fact his team is playing the finals on the same continent, less than two hours of flying away, warrants as much of an exception she can justify to herself. 

Madi is so excited to be on a plane for the first time she forgets to be scared and once they get to the hotel, there’s only a few hours to spare until the game. He gets them two indigo home-game jerseys that have the name ‘ _ Griffin _ ’ on the back, and she wonders how many favors he had to pull to get them ready on such short notice. Madi is practically swallowed by the shirt, even though it’s kid’s sized, and she makes her pose for one too many pictures because it just looks so adorable. 

  
Bellamy wears his official lila colored game jersey to match with the team, and sits down on the bed and lets Clarke stand in between his knees and paint Polaris’ flag on his cheek. Before they even know it’s happening, Madi jumps onto the bed and dips her fingers in the paint, decorating his other cheek without permission. It’s more smearing than decorating, really, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

He admires his face in the mirror in the bathroom, then comes back to the bed and ducks down, tickling Madi’s sides as he whispers something in her ear about ‘ _ not telling mommy he likes her side best _ ’, the little girl squirming on the sheets with delighted giggles. Clarke heart aches as she watches them, because she never did end up telling him  _ it _ , and now she both feels like it’s too late to tell him and he would’ve told her if he felt the same by now, you know before they took a vacation together, and everything is just fucked. 

The stadium is crowded and rowdy and smells like beer, and she almost regrets coming at all, until she finds out Bellamy even got Madi noise-cancelling headphones for the game. He really wants them here, so she figures she can brave through it. 

One look at Madi’s big blue eyes and he ends up carrying her to their front row seats in a secluded section. Because they skipped dinner to beat traffic to get here, he buys them pizza slices, tearing off bits and blowing on them until they’re cool enough for Madi to chew on, all the while loudly cheering his teammates on. 

Clarke only half understands what’s happening and flinches very visibly every time someone is tackled. At one point, Bellamy pulls her into his chest almost endeared at her secondhand pain, and she flushes all over. (They’re in public and she is going through something and even if she didn’t tell him about that something he should just know.) Madi cheers whenever the ball is on either end of the field, no matter who is scoring, and eventually gives up and has to be distracted with a youtube video of Peppa the Pig. 

During half-time, Bellamy takes them to the locker room to meet his friends after they’ve been verbally beat up by their coach for ten minutes straight. She’s carrying Madi, and because it’s crowded with other people wanting to see the guys or check up on them, he takes her hand and pulls her along. They come to a stop in front of a dark, bald man about a head smaller than him. Someone she now recognizes as Nathan Miller —  his best friend. 

Yeah, she’s spent some time googling rugby and specifically their rugby team. She wanted to be  _ educated _ . 

He lets go of her hand to hug him, and she immediately misses the weight of it. When Miller pulls back, he keeps his arm around his shoulders, pushing him a little as he raises his eyebrows, looking her up and down. “Oh, is this the good luck charm you wouldn’t shut up about?”

Clarke can’t really read his blank expression nor his deadpan tone  —  _ annoyance? pride? jealousy?  _ — so she just decides to be herself. “Not much luck if he’s out here with me instead of with you guys.” Over the weeks she’s picked up on some rugby slang from Bellamy and she used to watch a lot of soccer with her dad, so she feels confident when she tells him with a teasing smirk, “If you keep your chest pointed more towards the ball during a penalty kick you might not miss next time.”

Miller tries hard to hide a smirk, giving her another once over as he claps Bellamy on the back. “I like her.” 

It shouldn’t make Clarke happy, because it probably hardly matters if his best friend likes his other friend when they probably won’t ever hang out together, but it does. He’s talked about her to his best friend and he  _ approves  _ of her. It’s stupid, and yet she can’t wipe the smile off her face. 

The lights in the room flash on and off after just a few minutes, signaling half-time is almost over and Clarke waits by the door with Madi while Bellamy goes by every guy on his team and wishes them luck, ranging from shaking hands, clapping shoulders, cupping faces, ruffling hair, punching arms and giving small two-line personalized pep-talks. 

Soon after, they find their way back to their seats, and Clarke is a naturally competitive person so she can’t stand the sight of the scoreboard showing they’re a few points behind. Understandably, Bellamy is even worse. At times he looks like he just wants to run out there and do it himself, yelling at his teammates about what to do not enough to appease him. Other times when he has to sit down to take some weight off his knee, he’s tugging on his hair, biting his nails, going absolutely crazy. 

Her daughter doesn’t even look up from the too-big phone lodged in her tiny hands when the ref whistles, indicating the end of the game. And Clarke is all surprised laughter and blinding smiles when she’s swept off her feet in a huge celebratory hug only three seconds after. 

“We’re World Champions,” he gushes immediately after he puts her down, grin on his face so wide it’s threatening to split it in half. He doesn’t let go, just leans back enough to look at her. Most of their face-paint has faded into vague patriotic smears. 

Her fingers dig into his shoulders, his hands warm splayed across her back. His face is close, close enough for her to count his freckles if she were only able to break their gaze. Her fingers itch to trace the scar above his lip, her mouth feeling dry. For some reason her voice croaks when she echoes, “We are.”

Maybe she imagines it, maybe she’s just going crazy, but his eyes dart down to her lips and he leans imperceptibly closer down to her face. His brown eyes dark, but soft, eyebrows knitted together above them. She holds her breath, waits for it, but then someone tugs on the leg of her pants, and it takes her another second to realize it’s Madi. 

She turns towards her daughter, who’s full on pouting, headphones hanging around her neck. “Mommy, I need to pee!”

She’s nodding, she realizes she’s nodding, her body must be reacting on auto-pilot, breath still knocked out of her. Regrettably, he lets go of her, and she tries her very best to pretend her heart hasn’t lost all sense of what a normal rhythm should beat like. 

Bellamy, however, is looking as unaffected as always, grinning at her like they weren’t just almost caught in a full public liplock in front of half the world. “I’m going to congratulate the guys and then I’ll see you back here, okay?”

Clarke still hasn’t found her voice so she just nods again, picking Madi up considering she doesn’t feel like having a discussion about her walking right now. While waiting in the line for the bathroom, she pulls her phone from her purse, checking her messages while Madi swings their hands in between them. 

**Monty [20:38]**

_ Cannot believe you skipped dinner to make heart eyes at Bellamy Blake on International Tv _

**Harper [21:09]**

_ u just always have to overshadow us dont u dr griff with ur genius child & ur rugby captain boyfriend im revoking ur godmother rights b4 u even had them _

Clarke texts back a quick ‘ _ congrats on the pregnancy’ _ sorry-not-sorry text, promising that if everything works out she’ll bring him next time. Which isn’t a lie. She really is planning on making a move soon. They almost kissed. That happened. She’s sure of it.

The rest of the night mostly passes in a blur. There’s a victory party in some expensive hotel suite that is more like an entire private floor that they visit for thirty minutes before Bellamy takes one look at Madi asleep against Clarke’s chest on a couch in the corner and calls them an Uber. 

“You could stay. We don’t mind,” Clarke argues, lifting her dead-weight daughter a little higher as he tries to locate their coats in the pile by the door. 

He hands her her jacket, motioning for them to switch. Bellamy takes Madi from her like she weighs nothing, gingerly wiping away the fringe covering her eyes. “Nah,” he dismisses her quietly, still looking at the little girl snoring in his arms and drooling on his shirt with the corners of his lips turned up contently. “I left my partying days behind when I turned 25.”

Now she could argue some more, insist that this is a once in a lifetime party, considering their team,  _ his _ team just won the world championships, but the way he’s looked calmer now than he has all day makes her clamp her mouth shut. It’s not like it’s a hardship to imagine spending the rest of her night with him, just the two of them.

Clarke tucks Madi into her bed while Bellamy orders them room service. He got them two seperate rooms, but it would feel kind of silly to send him to his own room when they’ve shared meals before. Not that she even wants to. She figures he didn’t want to pressure her or impose on them, and it’s the thought that counts, no matter how stupid. He’s already invaded every aspect of her life, willingly or not. Yet he doesn’t expect anything from her, never does, which helps suppress the urge to run the other way when he looks at her a little too lovingly. She’s working on it, okay?

Over burgers and fries, sitting across from him on her king sized bed both cross-legged, his hair messy and a little ketchup on his chin, Clarke thinks,  _ I’m going to tell him _ . 

Then he beats her to it, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he says, “You know today was really weird.”

An old rerun of Seinfeld in a different language plays quietly in the background, the television casting them in different shades of blue light. Clarke thinks it over, putting her plate down on the tray in between them and wiping her salt-covered hands on her jeans. “Weird?”

He shrugs, swallowing his last bite of onion ring before he leans back on his hands. His eyes follow her movements as she takes a sip of her coke. “When the referee whistled, and it was over and I realized we actually won, all I could think was,” he starts, sighing heavily near the end. His voice is eerily passive as he adds, “They don’t need me.”

“Of course they do,” Clarke tilts her head, brow furrowing together. Does he not realize his importance? He’s a leader, people listen to him. She wishes he would realize his worth. “Before halftime they were bumming around, completely lost. They were on the verge of being obliterated before you spoke to them all individually. Look at them now.”

He clears his throat, obviously touched. There’s a beat, a pointed tone to his voice when he speaks, “What I also realized was that it didn’t matter as much to me as it used to.” 

_ Because? _ She wants to scream at him, push at him, tell him to squash all her hopes or make her wildest dreams come true.  _ Because?  _   
  


She doesn’t. Instead she tosses a fry at him, because she’s an adult. “And here I was thinking all your caveman brain was capable of caring about was an oval shaped ball.”

The fry landed on his lap, and he pops it in his mouth with a smirk. “Unfortunately for you, my pea-sized male brain has experienced personal growth over the last few months.”

“Oh my God, for the first time?” She teases, voice overly sweet. “I feel so special being there to witness it.”

He’s badly stifling a laugh all the way through his next sentence and for the first time in a long time, Clarke realizes she’s  _ happy _ . “It’s truly an honor getting to be here during a once in a lifetime experience.”

They polish off the food before settling in beside each other, backs pressed against the headboard as they try to make sense of the episode of Dynasty currently on the television when it’s dubbed and there’s no subtitles. 

After a mere twenty minutes, she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, hand on top of his knee. In the morning, she wakes up alone. 

The bed is still warm beside her, so she figures he never left and went to his own room. When she rolls over, she finds Madi’s bed empty too. Overcoming the special kind of disgust cursing through her veins from having slept in jeans, she pads over to Bellamy’s room beside hers. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says sheepishly as he opens the door after the second knock, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair is still wet from, what she assumes, is a shower. “She wanted to watch TV at five am and I wanted to give you a few more hours of sleep.”

Clarke’s eyes wander over to the edge of the bed Madi is perched on, feet dangling of the bed and kicking up and down as she’s entranced with the movie on the television, look of awe on her face. It’s, yet again, not even in the English language, but Madi has an overactive imagination so Clarke’s not surprised she’s running with it. 

She’s wearing the same jersey from last night with a green, tulle princess skirt that is most definitely left over from her Princess and the Frog Halloween outfit. Bootsy is discarded at her feet. 

He winces. “Sorry, she wanted to pick her own clothes.”

Clarke groans, in complete disbelief. She taught she did a great job at hiding all of Madi’s dress-up clothes at home now she’s learned to dress herself and has been proving it by not allowing a single soul to help her. “I didn’t even pack the skirt.”

“Don’t look at me,” he responds, holding up his hands in defense as he chuckles softly. “It wasn’t me either.”

She sighs, rubbing her temples, figuring it’s not really worth risking a temper tantrum over. The skirt is cute, even if it’s mismatched with the indigo jersey and the red polka dot hair band she’s picked out to go along with it. Clarke throws him an apologetic look. “Do you mind watching her for five more minutes so I can shower?”

He grins, easy. “Oh, definitely not. We’re really enjoying this highly edited, foreign version of The Grinch.”

Clarke shoots him a look. “It’s mid-summer.”

“The Grinch is a timeless movie,” he argues back, completely serious. “Wear something comfortable because we’re going sightseeing.”

There’s a flash of them on some stupid tour-bus Bellamy telling some story full of dumbed down historical facts Madi hardly understands, but is enraptured by anyway, perched on top of her mother’s lap. Looking like they belong together. Like a family. 

All at once, something snaps inside of her. Clarke worries her bottom-lip, looks over at Madi one more time before deciding she’ll be alright for a few minutes. It’s now or never, now or being pulled along with that tide of never-ending self-doubt and waves of cowardice. She pulls him into the hallway by his elbow, swiping his keycard off the table beside the door before closing it behind her quietly. 

She hugs herself, staring him down harshly because he’s smiling already, half-way on his way to making some dumb joke and she needs him to know she’s serious. “Madi loves you.”

Bellamy throws her a confused smile. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

She licks her lips, an exasperated sigh leaving her lips. “What are we doing?” She throws her hands up, completely frustrated with this situation. With herself, for letting it get this far. She’ll be heartbroken if he’s not in it like she is. Her own insecurities make her word her thoughts in the ugliest way possible. “Are we just playing a family and then once you go back to playing rugby, it’s over?”

His face warps into something pained and betrayed, his shoulders straightening as a poor defense mechanism. She could never be scared of him. Not after she’s watched him braid her daughter’s hair better than she ever could. “You really think it’s like that?”

That came out wrong. “Of course I don’t!” She snaps, then realizes she doesn’t exactly wants anyone to overhear. Nor is she mad at him. Maybe at herself. She lowers her voice, and can’t even stop it from breaking. “Or I hoped it wasn’t. I don’t it want it to be like that at all.” Her bottom lip quivers, in the same way her hands are shaking from holding back from him. “Desperately not.”

“Clarke  —”  He looks regretful and she closes her eyes, bracing herself for whatever comes next.  _ I’m sorry, but I don’t see you like that _ . “You and Madi, you have this entire life together, built it up from scratch after everyone you loved betrayed you. I didn’t really feel like it was my place to turn that life upside down.” Her eyes snap open, and she finds herself holding her breath as she listens to him. “I figured that if you wanted us to be more, you would say something. I wanted it to be your decision.”

Her throat feels scratchy. “Do you?”

He looks so confused, it’s adorable and she wants nothing more than to kiss him stupid hard. “Do I what?”

She inhales sharply through her nose. A beat passes. “Want us to be more?”

“I mean —”  Bellamy starts, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, and her breathing quickens. “I feel happier with you and Madi than I’ve ever been out there on that field. I can talk to you about anything. You challenge me in every way. You’re smart, and funny, and completely out-of-this-world gorgeous.” He inclines his head, voice and eyes softening now most of the fight has left him. “It’s not really a hard sell, Clarke.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice trembles with the effort of keeping herself rooted to the floor right where she is standing. Madi is a child, and she is a mess. “It’s a lot.”

A grin spreads across his face. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Your life is great as it is,” she argues right back even though she’s close to tears, figuring she has to at least try her hardest, make sure he’s considered all aspects of this. “You’re captain of our national rugby team. You’re young and rich and popular and have girls everywhere lining up to be your girlfriend. None of which have a three-and-a-half year old.”

He chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest, completely amused with her. “Who are you trying to talk out of this?”

“You,” she laughs, despite herself, wiping at the tears sliding down her cheeks and chin. Her voice shakes. “Myself, too. I’m going to screw up and  — she’s so young. I don’t want her to be fucked up like me, afraid that everyone she loves will someday leave her.”

“Even if  — you and me for some unimaginable reason don’t work out,” he claims like them trying this and it not working out somehow never crossed his mind, promising, “I would never disappear from her life completely.” He offers her half a self-deprecatory smile. “If you ever find someone better, I’ll definitely be her fun spinster uncle until she gets tired of me.”

“Impossible,” she breathes, and then can’t take it anymore, taking one huge leap forward straight into his arms, pressing her lips against his. His big hands tangle into her wavy hair, pulling her closer as their mouths move together. He tastes like coffee and it feels like the start of something she’s been looking for all her life. She can feel him smile against her mouth, and that’s her favorite part. 

“Bell-my, Cindy Lou saved Christmas!” Madi exclaims, door flying open. Then the little girl tilts her head, watching them part hastily and Clarke try to quickly wipe away the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hands. Her bushy little brows knit together in worry. “Mommy, ouch?”

“Yeah, something like that,” she laughs, watery, and he does too, while she kneels down in front of her to hug her tightly. Madi pats her back a little harshly. “Didn’t Bell-my kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees with another sniffled snicker, pulling back to look at her. She wipes away the last of her tears before fixing the head band on top of Madi’s head. She doesn’t know how or why she got this lucky, to have this kind of wealth, but she knows she’ll keep fighting to make sure she never loses it. “But I’ll never stop needing hugs from my favorite girl.”

She’s been getting better at learning other people have emotions, recognizing them and handling them accordingly. So Madi hugs her again, arms squeezing tight around her neck when she whispers conspiratorially, rather loudly, “We shouldn’t leave him out, mommy.”

Bellamy chuckles, seeking support from the door jamb as he lowers himself down on his good knee. “I never say no to hugs.”

“Sandwich!” The little girl exclaims excitedly, her favorite kind of hugs.“Mommy, you be the middle part!” She pushes against Clarke’s shoulder until it bumps into Bellamy’s chest, maneuvering herself around her mother to wrap her arms around her shoulders from the side. 

Bellamy’s arms easily fold around the two of them, and she shifts her head against his chest to look up at him to find him already smiling down at her. Yeah, she could get used to this. 

* * *

**EIGHT MONTHS LATER**

  
  


She wakes up before him, unlike usual, still stuck in her morning-shift rhythm. Clarke stretches, then makes good use of the opportunity by staring at the peaceful expression on his face covered in early morning rays of light filtering through the blinds. It’s a rare expression these days, a far off because of how hard he’s been working lately. He’s been back from a training camp for a day, barely there for a week and half and still it felt like part of herself was missing. It’s pathetic, but part of her also hopes she never stops feeling like this, like her life is better with him in it.

It’s about five more seconds she gets to admire how beautiful his profile really is before he’s peeking at her through one eye, shifting his head to the side. “Creepy,” he murmurs, voice laced with sleep.

He closes his eyes again, rolling onto his side completely, one hand sliding up her thigh to her waist, taking her sleep shirt with him. It’s his jersey, which has been a glorified pyjama ever since the first time he slept over in her bed.

“Well, you’re just  _ so _ pretty I can’t take my eyes of you,” Clarke counters sarcastically, fingers skating over his stubble-covered jaw until she’s palming his cheek. His eyes flutter as he leans into her touch, but they remain shut.

He must still be tired from his training camp, understandably so. A thirty minute workout is enough to knock her out for half a day, he spend at least ten hours a day running and tackling his teammates. 

“What’s bothering you?” He breaks her out of her thoughts, knowing her and her loud thinking all too well. 

“Are you — ” She cuts herself off, looking for the right word, tries to sound neutral and not stomach-churningly nervous or like she’s desperately hoping for a negative answer. “ _ Happy _ ? That you’ve been cleared?”

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bit insecure about it. He kept joking about it. About how he didn’t have much else to do so he got to spend all his time outside of rehab with them. it’s been over half a year, and sometimes she still can’t believe she got lucky enough to have him all to herself. Something was bound to go wrong. What if he starts feeling differently, now he’s back to doing what he loves?

His eyes spring open completely and he pushes himself up on one elbow, blanket sliding down to his waist as his fingers flex on her waist. She traces her fingers over Madi’s name inked into his skin. One day at school she learned to write her name in big girl letters, and the next day Bellamy came back with it tattooed over his ribs, about the size of the first half of her pointer finger.

Madi was so busy prodding at it and asking him questions about it, nobody even noticed how Clarke had to lock herself in the bathroom to ugly sob for over half an hour. To find someone who not only loved her  —  all of her good parts and her bad parts and even her ugly parts  —  but to find someone who loved Madi just as much, not just as an extension of her, or as something obligatory that came along with loving her, it just felt overwhelming and horrible and great at the same time. It was a lot, but it also lifted an unnecessary weight off her shoulders she hadn’t even known was there. 

Bellamy opens his mouth, then reconsiders her question because he realizes how important it seems to be to her, even if he doesn’t understand why. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I get to play again, but — ”

He breaks off, clamping his mouth shut as he fixates his gaze on the initial hanging around her neck. (He gave it to her for her birthday, somehow more meaningful than any diamond or expensive trip he could’ve given her. “ _ M for Mellamy obviously _ ,” he’d teased at the frozen look on her face. “ _ That’s a horrible joke, _ ” she said through the tears, and before him she never really let herself cry, never feeling safe enough to fall apart, “ _ You’re losing your touch, old man. _ ”)

“But what?” She pushes, impatient, forehead crinkled. 

“I don’t know.” He half shrugs, like he doesn’t already know. He’s always been good at that, processing his thoughts and feelings  — of which he has many —  and wording them in a way that just makes sense to even someone as emotionally constipated as her. “I think when Octavia and I stopped talking I buried myself into practice, trying to get better, keep my scholarship. I felt like I didn’t have a purpose anymore so I made rugby my purpose, anything to replace her.” 

She hums, affirmative to show him she’s listening, not at all sure where this is going. His sister has always been a rough spot and she knows half of the reason why he’s even as good as he is at what he does is because he was always trying to prove himself, still is. Trying to be good enough. She’s worked just as hard all this time trying to show him he is, and always was just because of who he is. 

His thumb moves over the soft skin of her waist, clearing his throat lightly before he admits, “But now that I have you, and Madi, I know what truly makes me happy.” He smiles, and to her surprise, it’s almost shy. “Our family.” 

“Bell — ” She starts of in protest, stammering her way through wording her scrambled thoughts as she moves her head to stare at the ceiling. Like somehow not having to see his face will help with the frustration coursing through her veins at not knowing exactly how to verbalize her million-and-one thoughts. “It’s okay if  — I mean, I know how much rugby means to you and  — I mean this kind of just  — ”

His grin widens, obviously amused at her struggling. “ _ Clarke.  _ Shut up.”

She laughs, head lolling to the side on the pillow to look at him again. “Well, how do you propose we shut me up?”

His fingers itch up her side again, spreading warmth across her chest like the lazy, mischievous smirk on his face. “I have a couple of ideas.”

“Hmm,” Clarke muses, slotting her knee in between his legs so she can move closer to him. “Let’s hear them, Blake.”

Bellamy hisses through his teeth mockingly, cupping her breast under her shirt. “Me and my pea-sized brain, you know I’m more show than tell.”

She pecks his mouth once, quick. “Let’s get on with it before the four year old wakes up and starts terrorizing us.”

He nods against her mouth, banding his arms around her and pulling her on top of him as he rolls back onto his back. Her knees slide down to the bed on either side of his hips, and she pulls back briefly to pull her shirt over her head. 

Her hands glide up his abs that are starting to get ridiculously hard again now that he’s back to being a full-time rugby player, coming to rest on his shoulders. Bellamy buries his fingers into her hair, pulling her back down enough to kiss her. She rocks her hips against his, enjoying the soft vibration of him groaning into her mouth. 

He bites down on her bottom-lip in retaliation, his free hand slipping into the back of her panties to squeeze her ass. He was too tired last night for them to take it any further than lazily making out for a few minutes before falling asleep, and she’s missed his hands on her for the past week and a half. So much, she thinks she might die from desperation with how wet she is already. 

She freezes with her mouth still on his when there’s some loud commotion on the other side of their bedroom door. The handle moves, but then there’s a loud, ‘ _ No _ !’ in a voice that makes Clarke and Bellamy stare at each other in alarmed confusion. 

An aggravated groan that definitely belongs to Madi, then there’s a few short knocks, that sound more like kicks than little pudgy fists. “Mommy! Auntie Harp is here, can I go play with Jordan?”

“Sure,” she shouts, looking at the closed door over her shoulder. Bellamy moves a strand of hair away from his nose, probably because it tickles. To be sure, she adds, “Be careful with him! He’s just a baby!”

“Yuh-uh!” Clarke can just imagine the eye-roll accompanied with it. “Bye!”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, and she just shrugs already leaning down to kiss him. Why question it when they could spend their time doing other things? Things that involve his hands and mouth and cock? Things she’s missed almost as much as waking up in arms and listening to his dumb jokes and stupid ‘ _ historically inaccurate _ ’ rants about Disney movies named after Hercules?

Her phone immediately buzzes on top of her nightstand, and again, but she’s too distracted by the kisses Bellamy’s pressing against her throat to really care. It’s a few hours before she actually gets to read it, and she can’t say she’s surprised.

**Harper [07:48 AM]**

_ u owe me at least two nights of babysitting for this _

**Harper [07:48 AM]**

_ none of that weekday shit either _

**Harper [07:48 AM]**

_ a whole saturday, or at the very least three friday nights _

**Clarke [10:29 AM]**

_ think of all the brownie points you got for your selfless deed, isn’t that enough? _

**Harper [10:31AM]**

_ nice try but bell already agreed so ur fucked _

**Harper [10:31AM]**

_ literally _

**Harper [10:31AM]**

_ ur welcome, btw _

**Clarke [10:32 AM]**

_ stop blackmailing him w baby pics you know he’s sensitive to that shit _

**Harper [10:34AM]**

_ give him one already so i can using mine for blackmailing purposes _

**Harper [10:34AM]**

_ feels like bad karma for some reason _

She looks up from her phone to watch him work at the stove, shirtless and hair a mess on top of his head, quietly humming along to some pop song on the radio, scrambling her eggs exactly the way she likes it. She bites her lip, lets herself get distracted for a moment just watching his muscles move beneath his broad, golden back before she remembers to type out a response. 

**Clarke [10:36 AM]**

_ someday _

Someday, and it’s not so much a promise as it is something she knows for certain is in their future. Because if she’s sure about one thing, it’s that they’ll give Madi a sibling as soon as timing will allow it. Maybe she’ll do it in the right order this time. Make an honest man out of him first. Buy a bigger house together, and one of those stupidly ridiculous minivans just because she thinks it would fit him perfectly. Perhaps a dog, or a cat, or a pet rabbit. She’ll have to ask Madi, although she draws the line at lizards. 

All she knows is that as long as she has him by her side, looking at her the way he does, making Madi giggle the way only he can, none of it really matters. Everything is just the way it’s supposed to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the answer to my previous question in the beginning note is no.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway let me know what you think, buy my eye-shadow pallete called shades of depression and are just named after various bellarke scenes and find me [here](http://www.captaindaddykru.tumblr.com) or if you insist [here](http://www.twitter.com/captaindaddykru) if you want to yell, prompt me, wish kisha a happy birthday or become my bestest friend and eventually reveal after i upload a fic for your birthday that it was your masterplan all along to weasle one of these out of me and now i'm dead to you❤️


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